MUSEUM OF DOVES AND SNAKES

Open the doors, enter in, an exhibition.

Like art, perfection on display, prohibition.

No alcohol, forbidden sensations, yet children play

Drunken on indoctrination, obey. No hesitation.

A museum of fakes, paintings of doves and snakes.

Like a breastplate and shield, all forged, but to the flames, yield.

Altitude sickness revealed, plateau on the flat field.

Childs play hide the flask. Slide on the mask.

Moments later, life’s guide, the flask. Hide the mask.

Take it on put it off, Like a cart drivers’ glove, shift.

Position change, it is natures gift, no child’s play.

Adults pay, she saw to a tree fall, but in the playground,

It can rise again, rebirth. It’s all Child’s play, seesaw.

 

A place where those who set chase are promised grace.

Don’t buy into it, it crescendos in the bridge, that’s where it ends though.

An illusion, a crafty inuendo, they proclaim things they do not live out.

They gather to spout out proclamations, come Monday they take a different route.

I call it doctrine, as a child I bought what I was taught,

It is easy to teach it is easy to preach, please I want to see you reach,

Reach those who do not believe to set false what I perceive to be a leech,

Sucking the blood of those who are blinded by eloquent speech.

I believe in the word and that is problem I have with the church.

The collection of shards is praised, a hundred parts better than a whole.

It is a numbers game, forget the soul, what counts is the hands raised.

Are the lives changed? Don’t know but their credentials are good for fame.

So, pick out single verses to praise an idol of love. Hide the wrathful God you doves.

Yet be ready to swallow the venom, for he is also a jealous God who judges from above.

But that is too dark it does not fit the game. Issues are not addressed they bring shame.

Critique is blasted in the devil’s name, it is intoxicating to their idol, fame.

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