'' It's Time To Feel, Ill At Ease '' Poem by Bri Mar

They say it is written,
In the good book,
With the God we are smitten,
He'll return for a look,
We could well be bitten,
Or at worse, forsook,
If he doesn't like what he sees.

His teachings ignored,
We do make him bleed,
With god we are bored,
For them we've no need,
It is trouble we've stored,
In our desire for greed,
We've developed a liking for sleaze.

Between rich and poor,
The gap grows ever wide,
It does not reassure,
Our behaviour is snide,
There is no cure,
Our sins we can't hide,
Our creator we cannot appease.

We continued our ways,
Despite what we knew,
Dishonesty still pays,
That decision we'll rue,
It's the end of our days,
So, let chaos ensue,
We'll no longer do what we please.

At us he may leer,
For refusing to atone,
Among all of us here,
Who will cast that first stone?
We should feel fear,
To god it's well known,
His commandments are but a disease.

It's written in papyrus,
One day he'll come back,
Though not very desirous,
We are under attack,
Could it be as a virus?
As of detail there's a lack,

‘' It's Time, To Feel, Ill At Ease ‘'