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A Religious DisturbEarly one bright and sunny Saturday morning

I woke with bad breath on the wrong side of the bed

But still enjoying the luxurious ritual of stretching and yawning

Wishing I could dive back into those blessed dreams

But a well tuned instinct warns of something

Creeping toward my door masquerading as Religious Morality(surely intervening for my Soul)

And is on its way and nothing in the imagination can stop its coming

Before I can even fall out of my oh so comfortable bed

I can hear the chatter of muted indecipherable talking

While I feel the patter of the self-righteous foot-steps walking

After the front door-bell chimes the Song of the Doomed

In the sudden, stifling silence, surprisingly no-one hears the hammer of a gun cocking

Back on the single shot twenty gauge sawed-off shotgun

I keep near my front entrance for the intrusions of unwanted guests that come knockin

So obsessed with the need to save un-baptized Souls, they NEVER think to listenFor the unwelcoming noise that reveals the signal of remorseless Death stalking

The next victim of The Savage Garden

Who will soon be underground decomposing and slowly rotting

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Children of God brutally slain in a way that the circumstances seem insane

It is a crime against all things Godly so in the minds

Of even the most cynical, its a dreadful criminal deed utterly shocking

Twas a false vision the God sent these misguided Souls

In the interminable seconds before they fatally rang my door-bell

Because I believe the Gods and Devils of ALL Religions

Keep a secret so terrible that They can never allow any to ever tell

Ancient Wisdom that has been forgotten in the shifting whirlwinds of Time

Secrets from long before the great culture of Mesopotamia fellThe distant truth is that They are both one and the same

And ONLY in the Earthly Realm can They even dwell

Collecting our perplexed Souls with startlingly ease

For in this buyers market, every man, woman, and child is eager to sell

The most important thing they possess, for without the Soul

A person is without moral essence and exists as just a hollowed shell

Wasting away in the ridiculousness of a pointless life

And this to me is the very definition of what yall might call Hell

But as spiritual as my words may sound to a jury of my peers,

To whom my story the prosecutors forced me to tell,

I know it is all nonsense and the REAL truth is that

I am mentally disturbed, psychologically un-well

I knew I was in the wrong even as the shot-gun blast

Echoed about my head when the first body fell

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To the cold floor, laying at rest

Bleeding his lifes blood in a wa

My only defense is that if he ha

He would still be alive thus I fe

near the polished shoes of his best friend

that offered no hope for help

not disturbed my Saturday morning,

l the man killed himself

AAAAndre

Dr est S

N NN N. F FF Farrens

w Kazinsky ockton, California

August 21, 2012