Fires Incendiary

Show me your God of light and I
will mourn the lack of ambience –
ignore the plight of biospheres destroyed
exhuming power from corpses warm;
the deed will need no sanctity.

And where you dance a harmony
in rhythms revelling at freedoms
flight all lesser gods will cant and carp;
why should you care? You wallow in
the lust of your magnificence.

The farce is sharp; clerics reading
inference in ancient words interpret
what they like, scholars raised on rich
and heady fare delight in passing wind
through empty minds as godlike fear.

Burning of the atmosphere explains
a charred and broken promise, a rule
of godly life abjured – no solace there
just penury for holy men whose words
inflame and fuel the fires incendiary.
© 14 June 2008, I. D. Carswell