Some nights, when I cannot fall asleep,
I do not ask the Lord my soul to keep.
Once I believed, but I do not believe anymore.
He never heals the sick or feeds the poor.
His ‘holy’ men just take the tithes from fools,
who by rights should get a refund from their schools,
for believing in a fairytale of such bull,
and pretending that an empty cup is full.
If I once believed in God, that ship has sailed,
nor can I pray to a man they say was nailed.
For if they did exist, why have they ignored the cries
of all the ‘holy men’ who spout tall tales and lies?
Their brainwashed flock, they will believe,
those who get paid to lie, con and deceive.
And who promise that the sick will all be healed
and that Blacks will not be jailed or shot and killed.
Next Sunday, look at the picture on the wall.
Kneel before it and in a deep, southern drawl,
say, “Jesus, a minute of your time!”
“Why is Black skin at the scene of every crime?”
“What wrong did we ever do to you,
“that would make you hate us for it too?”
“I listen to your word, oh Lord on high!”
“So once again, I have to ask you why?”
“If you exist, and there really is no sign,
at how much evil, will you finally draw the line?”
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland