They preach out from mouth and from pen. 
Claiming to have found and been born. 
If touted from professional men, 
Their proof would find nothing but scorn. 

But praise it finds instead, en masse 
As if it were something of worth. 
There’s comfort in the history of Mass, 
when you cower from your plot in the earth. 

Damning the modern world as it is, 
Still clenching yet onto the past. 
Shouting that salvation is "His" 
As children, they will shout till the last. 

With logic as circular as effervescent, 
they deny death’s grip as they grieve. 
Fearing to leave life’s present, 
they grovel that their life may not leave. 

They claim right to peace and, as we know, 
peace is something we can well afford. 
These words from their demons below: 
"I came not to send peace, but a sword." 

They claim of "Him" great contradictions 
Their Scriptures as likely as sooth 
They proclaim their soft benedictions, 
In place of examining their "Truth".