The strongest argument against God Is this: People naturally understand right from wrong. I have a way I want to be treated. And I want to treat others that way. I also, want others to be treated well. Therefore, I know this about myself So I want this to be applied to others. Why it fails, is that there are many masochists. There are many sadists. There are many people who enjoy war; Many people who enjoy pain; Many people who enjoy causing others to suffer. It also fails, because what is true for one man Isn't necessarily true for another. What sexual appetite one person has Might be repugnant to another. What desire one person has Might inflict pain on another By mere economics. One in forty women I meet Would rather date another woman Than me. What's even worse Is that one in two will divorce me If I ever took the risk of marrying them. One in nineteen people I meet Are still a virgin. There is also the subject that A baby can be destroyed in the womb. There is also the subject that Some want drug use to go unregulated. There is also the subject that There are blacks who want to segregate the West. There are women who want every man to be convicted of rape. There are men who want pedophilia to be normalized. There are whites who want to usher in communism. There are educated people who are tearing down monuments. It is because of all of this That I stand firm in my faith.
Tag: The
Government of the Moneyed
Black is the day that the shadow Fell over our land. All want the cannon gibberish while Freedom drinks hemlock like Socrates; Powerful men control speech. The strongest, through their money, Create their government Of portals and addresses. Strong they are, And great among the nations. They silence the voices of the dissident. They crush opposition with silence. Silence, they say, is the enemy. Yet, when skilled voices are Stopped, the strong are made weak Through silence... How can my voice break through?
Liberty Watches
Oh, Maria, from sea to shining sea, From the canyon which the Giant dug, To the city where thy greenly feet stand; Songs against thy fat land are proudly sung As the blackened Cherethim in armies March across thy fords and burn thy sweet land, So babes are shot in the streets untimely, Oh! great black armies make their ghastly stand. The speech of Maria's chosen do dim, The cheerful songs of those merry with wine Do stop in the dead of night; children Die, of all creeds and runes, those children die--- The black armies of the Cherethim march The snakes and cockatrices bite venom Into the hearts of all dared merry men, Who. from their daily coffers, now are shunned.
Oh, Maria, From Sea to Shining Sea
Oh, Maria, from sea to shining sea, From the canyon which the Giant dug, To the city where thy greenly feet stand; Songs against thy fat land are proudly sung As the blackened Cherethim in armies March across thy fords and burn thy sweet land, So babes are shot in the streets untimely, Oh! great black armies make their ghastly stand. The speech of Maria's chosen do dim, The cheerful songs of those merry with wine Do stop in the dead of night; children Die, of all creeds and runes, those children die--- The black armies of the Cherethim march The snakes and cockatrices bite venom Into the hearts of all dared merry men, Who. from their daily coffers, now are shunned.
The Duke’s Dirge
Shorn the sheep to graze in fields, peridot,
The jeweled sun’s breath upon the burnished cheek;
Kin we were in kith we ran the ramparts
Of our boyish troop, upon the dragon’s gorge.
It reared upon us one silent hour
O’ that brother of the Jeweled Seraphim,
Son of Satan and Scylla, most unwise.
He is a man like any other, plush
With his mischief upon the earth, rosy
Are his cheeks; richer he is than the king.
The Seraphim will bind his sire in
Juddecca’s chains, cast him down to hell. Yet.
That foe Death, only one will vanquish:—Christ.
The winds of the eastern vault bring pleasant
Breeze, to where we once in boyhood’s gay charms
Played with sticks, and serious was our charge
To guard the gates of those ruddy warriors.
The armies salvos over the hills, arms
March out to war, in our memory’s past;
Those games we played as youth, with prop instead
Of cold metal in the scabbard’s tang.
Never was Satan’s sire, that Scylla’s
Bastard, a thought upon our mind, when war
Burgeoned in the hill valleys of our play.
Yet, the silent winds cooled our childhood’s
Games. And the sweet smell of the heather blooms
Rose through the air with the mowed grass; sticks crossed
Their tackles, but not the iron of war.
Brother, I pray you find rest in the green
Lights of Paradise’s grove; so rest sound.
For our swords would cross in amateur play
Yet, now the Bastard has crept through your door.
Raise; raise you Duke
At the last Trumpet’s sound
Into paradise.
Cannot
Cannot is “Ought not”
With a severe punishment.
The reason it cannot be done
Is because if done
It will maim you,
Either in body, mind or soul.
The devil stole this original meaning from us all,
Yet I dare you now not to remember it.
Had He One Confession of Faith
Had Washington made one confession of his obvious faith
He might have saved this country’s soul.
Christians, I adjure you, make it known what you are.
That way bad men cannot malign a life of quiet servitude.
At the End of the Day
At the end of the day
There is not a shred of evidence.
Either aye or nay,
Either right or wrong.
For, when all are fools
And believe themselves wise
That other men had not spoken
That all ideas must be catchy and pithy quips…
What knowledge there is was hidden
By men in a state of egocentric predicament.
The Modern Skeptic
When all philosophy fails
A man brings his cup to his lips.
He despairs Socrates,
Saying all love was for his hips.
He says, “All we know
“Is that beauty catches the eyes,
“Woman’s flesh upon my glans
“Is the only meaning I can find.
“And how I want to live;—
“I don’t care who has to suffer.”
The Slave
Once there was a boy who fell into
Depths of peril; renowned was he
‘mong the rising fortunes of bliss’
Wagon wars. He foresaw futures
Grim; he fell by all.
Ev’ry tongue was wagged against him
When none could know his inner thought.
All were joyed by sin’s epistle
All were to him like a thorn.
Who knows the boy so close to age
That men did scorn and sell their hate.
At once they made him sign in blood—
His life’s to God the Father and Son—
He made no vow, but was renown
To be the villainous world’s clown.
Thus all did hate and scorn and preen
They wished to burn him, kill him, scream
At what he did, was worst of all…
Yet worst he did was give his life to Law.
For now all men do hate him so
Who found the one and Holy Ghost.
Wrote Trochees, called them Iambs—
All called that man dumb.
I see men who all sank in the bog.
A silly thing to watch, this salt bog
Desperate to find all of his faults.
For into the salt bog the men sank
When they wagged their hot tongue.
All men shot their split tongue
Like the Asp’s double pronged fork.
Think on this, thou friendly foes
Of what cost it did bring. When men
Turned a head South of his Slavehood.
Ever have laws remissed him?
Why say he’s lawless, then?
B. K. Neifert 