1: Before this begins, I would like to say a quick word on this piece. Firstly, that this is; in a proper sense; a revision of the old version of this poem. Though it is not by much, and the original as I wrote it on the 6th of April, 2020; is still ingrained heavily. I have changed some of the verses, either for more poetic stability, previously unfinished lines, or a dislike disliking of what was written then. The length of the poem, as I've counted it, is 145 lines. No doubt, it might be a line or two longer or shorter, but it shall give a general idea onto the length. It is written in the typical free verse I normally write poetry in. Though, I had consideration initially, of converting the lines into a kind of iambic trimeter, following a hexasyllabic form. But that was dismissed after a short time. I think I have said more than enough on this now - certainly more than as to what was said prior of the piece - so it shall now be presented.

2: Unto your insistence David,
I have told of my thoughts,
On those men known as the
"New Atheists", those imbeciles
Replacing religion.

You have asked me to
Proclaim what I say of them,
And to my progression
Of argument against them;
Here it is, such was asked.

I will not say that,
As an idea of itself,
To bring upon us a modernized
Atheism and secularism, is bad.
Yet, it's result as known is
Most distasteful and horrid.

See it then that,
I am not called as one against
Atheism, but in favour of it.
But of it's current form,
They are the heathens deserving of shame
As such it would be in olden days.

I have heard of today,
I have heard, of the men without
Faith. Much do I listen,
Much so I form of them
Thoughts, lingering and unstill.
Their greatness, so proclaimed,
Buzzes by like drums of a band;
Or the bees o'er the spring flowers.

But one cannot ignore,
In thought great or minor,
That of their vanity.
Of their vanity - vast and unmatched -, it excels
To whom they are trying to avoid!
They avoid of the past, yet follow it!

Look at Hitchens, the pompous
Brit; loud as a Cockney. Look at him deep!
Look into his sternness!
He plays with words, and knows
Of the force of his tongue;
Yet hears not it's movements,
And not of his own stupidity.

Look at Dawkins, the stern,
The able, the meek, the measly.
He can, at least in part;
Do his duty as so trained;
Yet in faith, he belongs in the
County sewers of the peasants.

But none come to the
Bombast, or ignorance of that man
Harris. The fool and rejected.
I see of your things on philosophy;
Yet even to the psychology;
You deserve mud over gold!
And a gutter to a podium!

And of that man Peterson,
The most foolish of all,
With all others above,
They are but snowflakes beside
The great Llewellyn Glacier,
Of that man Peterson, he
Deserves any eggs throw onto
His face and chest.
And of his narcotics,
'Tis fitting for his nature.

Of all these men, high on the stage
Of all their philosophy and psychology,
Proclaiming unto the masses the death
Of God, yet as they preach;
They make nothing to say
In either direction, but pure
Idiocy and foolishness.
For God may be dead to man,
Yet few can ever say he was
Ever living in history;
With listeners hearing of them.

I feel of these men,
I hear of them endlessly,
I hear they are great and mighty.
Yet, if they were of the generation
Last, their only destination
Would be unto the crowds
Of lunatics and fools.
And to there they belong as
I see as natural and fit.

Only he who is without his
Head, and without it's own freedom;
Could ever say these people are
Great, good, and wise.
For they do not know of what
Even the tip of wisdom is.

But to say those,
With the might and spirit of
God with them, wrath and peace
Alike; what difference is there
To present in their minds?

They are, to each in different
Manner, the dogmatists of hell.
They are, as Plato shows to whom
Socrates was supposed to be;
As corrupters of the youth.
Corrupters of the masses, and of
All of man. A pure plague of death.
And only worthy of the hemlock tea.

When I see either on a stage,
Behind a pedestal, wearing
Only that which is suited by a
Prince, and using words of
Alike past thinkers; I see no
Different individual in either.
I see, before thine eyes,
The wicked, pure and corrupt.
I see the idolaters of the sophists.

Such is the sad state of
Today's secular and rationalists.
You came to bring about
The new world of reason,
Of fairness and of man.
To remove of the old church,
And the priest's and their theology.
To wipe clean away of their
Disposal of common sense and
Immorality, and to bring
Goodness to everyone.

Yet, as the church of old
Burns the heat of a 1000 suns,
Glimmering in the sky;
The new church is born out
Of it's ashes. Yet, 'tis only
New in form and age.
It's construct, manner, and
Housings within, change in tone;
But not of an eternal change.

Such is the state of today's thinking.
Such is, what will be the forefront
Of tomorrow, I only pray
We return to some olden way,
Where the reason of those
Thinkers we now revere;
Voltaire, Descartes, Nietzsche,
And the like; that we come to them
In of ourselves. Yet, as shown,
Only the courtly jester now
Preaches of any good word.

-Ryan Rider.
April 6th, 2020.
Revised and extended, June 3rd, 2020.