People forget that the new testament,
Was a posthumous compilation.
Yes, the bible was compiled 300 years
After Jesus was hung on a cross,
In a place called Nicaea. The bible
Is at some degree, fiction, although
We like to see it as fact, sacred fact.
The bible is as much to do with the good guy,
As to do with the bad streaks in us,
The rise and the fall.
Whoever said ignorance is bliss, would
Have been, just as ignorant as ignorance is.
Ignorance is no orgasm or nirvana,
Only tunnel vision, a narrow field of sight.
The thrones we all warm and the chairs
We let everyone else sit on; prejudice
Is just as much alive as jealousy, that franken-monster.
And a window doesn’t open by itself,
It needs six muscles to dilate a pupil,
To let in, the beautiful glow of light.
The bible it helps us navigate
Through human ills, to rise from
Any prejudice, to see through fogs of ignorance,
To kill the jealousy monster. How we begin as match sticks,
Tall and thin, when we should aim to be lighthouses,
Just like the tallest lighthouse, Jesus.
Climbing the stairs, up a lighthouse,
Is never easy though, it’s a slow journey,
And lighting up a far-reaching glow,
Is what makes us the best human we can be,
A role model of how the bible,
Is relevant beyond what we gather.
How prostitution, is the same
As playing the field, how tax collection,
Is the same as greed. How Jesus is that priest on a pulpit,
Giving modern twists to old stories.
How two Maries defined one man’s life,
The shy virgin and the defiant prostitute,
Unified by the love of one man,
Whose interpretation of love,
Was bigger than a race, Homo sapiens
A species that is as much vermin,
As they are wise.