Thou speakest of God, yet thy hands are empty.
Thy prayers rot upon thy tongue.
Thou preachest virtue, yet kneelest only to thyself.
Thy altar is ego,
And thy god is convenience.
Thou judgest in His name,
But He knoweth thee not.
Thy faith is a mask stitched with lies,
Thy mercy a performance for men.
Thou sayest God walks with thee,
Yet thou refusest thought, counsel, and truth.
What god abideth in a double heart?
What heaven awaits the narrow mind?
Thou abandonest responsibility
And callest it destiny.
Thou woundest others
And namest it divine will.
Hear this, O hypocrite:
If thy god hateth wisdom,
If thy god loveth ignorance,
If thy god feasts upon pride—
Then thy god is false,
And thy worship is filth.
Even death shall reject thy excuses.
Even the grave shall ask thee questions.
Thou shalt not be saved by age,
Nor cleansed by time,
For ego is immortal
When the mind refuseth to open.
Break thy pride,
Or be devoured by it.
For the closed heart
Shall never know peace—
Not in life.
Not in death.
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