The Splintered House

You built yourself a god -
Who's made of paper and sticks.
And set him on an altar
and gave him all your sins.

He wears a cross on his back.
And a robe of purest white.
He swears he'll slit your throat.
If you can't look him in the eyes.

And you give to him the children.
Even though they cry for their release.
And you give to him your freedom.
And you fall on bended knee.

And while you kneel, he smiles at you,
Baring crooked teeth.
An eye is missing from his face.
There's blood running down his cheeks.

And he'll tell you what to do.
He'll tell you what to say.
You are the servant, he is the master.
And he doesn't even know your name.

Note: I've had a lot of people react funny to this. Let me clarify: this is not an atheistic poem. My faith is very important to me. This is, however, very critical of the fundamentals of organized religion.