Sunday, February 11, 2007



People wonder about Jesus of Nazareth
The man they call Christ
They claim an omnipotent God
Came to Earth
And walked the land as a man
They say a weird, obscure creature
Split itself in three
In a complex scheme to save humanity
From a sin it had instigated and desired
The creature knows everything there is to know
It knows the beginning, end and new beginning
And it's bored beyond imagining

So, it put its great game in motion
Creating reality and its chess pieces
Of gold and silver and blood and bones
Its game of sin and redemption
And worship and endless trust
Or so they say

In the year zero it sent itself
To suffer on its own behalf
Creating quite the spectacle of it
A theater production
Worth its value in gold
And blood, sweat and tears
Or so they say

There are countless ancient stories
About people rising from their death
Stories about human beings
Rising from their own ashes
About humanity living on
After death

These were the stories the men of Nicaea
Breathed on and gave life
To suit their own, petty purposes
To make themselves shine
In a posterity of their own making
Many a critical scholar
Of their present
Spoke up against their lies
And many a critic's shadow
Was drowned in blood
That's the nature of religion
Anyone it can't convert
It kills

And thus it was
Through centuries and millennia
Through days and nights without number
Of deceit and horror beyond imagining
Until Jesus the mirage had become fact
Until reality itself
Had become muddled in smoke and mirrors
And Freedom a four-letter word


There was no man called Jesus Christ
He was and is a sick deception
Created from scratch
By people thriving on such things
On the collective insanity
Claiming the world

Nothing happened in the year Zero
Except the flow of history
The invention, the stories gone bad
They came later, centuries beyond
While power hungry old men gathered
And concocted the fraud
The utter, deluded fantasy
Deceiving and destroying the world

So, here we are today
Living without a clue
Of what the world truly is
Because of a bunch
Of power hungry old men
Claiming both their present
And posterity
As their very own
Time and countless lies
Created the legend
The pure myth of Jesus of Nazareth
And we are all worse off because of it

There is no God, no savior
Gathering the worthy
At Judgment Day
And we are all better off
Because of that jubilant fact

Amos Keppler

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