Life’s play Every dawn still the same,
No humanity left in the world that I see, Love, trust, and hope.
Perished in the creation of what made man. To the creator, I ask this.
Is this what you call yourmasterpiece? Bodies brutally battered into pieces,
Blood flowing through the nib of yourquill unto the sheets, Such twisted plot,
How does the sight of your work make you feel? Thou shall not kill,
Yourscripture passed down through the ages. But you taketh life all the same
Yet still overly divine in every way, This is beyond mortal comprehension, Of celestial engrave sin,
What holy book of life builds its plot on the pained meek, Who believe in nothing but your supremacy,
Mercy, and loving-kindness.
Misplaced are their faith and hopes, I struggle to believe,
I’m just a cast in all these,
If so are my sins mine since they were long written, What good actress doesn’t strict to the script,
Just playing my part like I should, Amusingly erring isn’t so human after all.
