Believe, Believe

The Hallowed brotherhood, devout, sincere,
From mean self interest stand well clear.
All hope of rewards they justly scorn,
Prompted to persuade, to teach, to warn.

Their wisdom pure, handed down from those above,
Their value assured by their zeal and love.
As meek as Moses with High Caul,
With truth they teach, they give their all.

They stand stalwart from the world’s contaminating touch,
Unpolluted by belief’s foul, unreasoning crutch.
The hallowed few against the might of power and wealth,
To bring man’s collective mind back, to reasoned health.

So many lives, so much painful bloodied death,
Children burned, raped and choked of breath.
The Hallowed Brethren gave their all, and soon the fray must leave,
And men still shout with eyes and minds locked tight,
“Believe! Believe! Believe!”

Bury me (but not today)……

When I die, bury me in a lonely place, away from the prying eyes of my enemies.
Bury me in a far place, where they cannot spit upon the mound beneath which I lie, nor defile my stone-marked place.
My enemies are only the worst of people, who know no better. But forgive them not, for their ignorance is their preferred choice. They believe that spitting on the helpless, or the dead, raises them up in some way, making them feel less inadequate, though there is nothing less adequate than such as they; and nothing lower; not even a snakes track in a wheel rut is lower.
Such is the mind of the truly base-motivated animal that calls itself mankind. Such men could call themselves human if it was not for the void left by their total lack of any humanity.
Bury me on the prairie, or the wild places, where my heart shall live as long as I breathe, and to where my spirit shall fly when my carcass no longer is warm.
Failing that, dump me somewhere, but in an unnoticed place, as I have been unnoticed all my life, except for the unwanted attentions of those who wish me quiet. These relentless and often secret, faceless enemies, of which I appear to have so many.

I have offended by asking men to reason. To learn of things beyond what they think they already know, for they believe they know all there is to know, whilst at the same time denying evidence of fact, in favour of fantasy, their unknown things remaining oblivious and unsought for.

I have offended many because I do not believe in what they believe, because what they believe has no basis in fact. Still do they choose belief in the unbelievable over all fact. I have offended even more greatly, when I have asked them to show me the things of what they speak with such conviction. All they can show in evidence, is yet more believed and baseless nonsense.

I have shaken their conviction, but still they see not any light, and hate rises within them because of their fear. Perhaps their darkness is too dark for any light to penetrate. Their portals are shut so tightly, that nothing goes in; and because of this state, nothing is in there to come out.

So when I am dead, bury me in a silent place, where I can not hear their babblings of what they believe, or their singing of hypocritical hymns, as what they believe changes daily, and very often, more speedily than that. And of the praises they sing are only of themselves, in that contradiction of “sure and certain hope”.

Bury me deeply in case I can still see, for there is nothing of my fellow man that is worth seeing, for so much of him is false; and the differences he feels towards me are not visible, except to him and his like-thinkers.

Bury me in a windswept place where the winds drive the stench of their stupidity from me. For it has a truly foul stench, that appears to overcome all things, and leave even that which is clean, fouled.

Bury me where only my friends know, for they are the goodly ones, and people of reason and kindness, suffering only from their deep rooted humanity; and those without humanity take advantage of that which they do not understand, and so make such good people suffer, simply because they can, and lack conscience. Belief has its uses, as it justifies all.

Bury my friends where I lie, so that they may not be sought out by their enemies, for their enemies are my enemies. Such dark birds of evil fly in close formations, in dense and ever shadowing flocks across the sun-drenched valleys where even the sweet waters fail to cleanse them away, nor can the light of kindness or wisdom, shine through to give life. Such is their shadow.

Where such as they are present can abide only death; whether it be of the flesh, or of the spirit. So often destruction is all that the evil ones see, or appear to either know or understand. To them destruction is good for them to perform. It is useful to such as they, because it creates fear; and fear creates obedience, and the obedient ones give power to the unjust. The un-just lacking, sadly, in any form of common kindness, and, devoid of all sense of humanity, holds no care.

The unjust have the power to destroy, and they use it to great effect to maintain their station. Evil rules are laid down, sucking away the blood and effort of the good; and this evil grows ever stronger.

Let no priest of any believer's kind cross my door. And let no useless prayers to some entity that has its place only in the sick imaginations of fools, be muttered at my passing.
Let no hypocritical tear be shed. I shall need not belated sympathies or false regrets when I am already dead. “If only” shall not rise me up, nor shall it furnish forgiveness to those who have done me wrongs.
Bury me in a far place where the sky is big and the grass is tall. Let not my enemies know that I am dead, till the soil is well settled. Because of them I have been sorely bled, and all of me severely tested. There is not worthiness in them, nor any kindness of humanity invested.
Keep a silence, lest men learn of my change of station, that I might lie in peace and do my rotting in quiet secret. Let my enemies take no delight in my inevitable and final misfortune, which befalls all mankind. For alas, I have many enemies amongst the hordes of the believers that I do not know, and who know me not; nor have they taken the trouble to find me out. I, alas, am surrounded.

Copyright RG Crosbie 2005


When all seems lost and life turns cold.
When there's nothing left, but love to hold.
When passion dies within the ageing loin,
Youth long spent as careless coin.

When there's no future left beyond today to see,
And time a memory distant passed,
When nothing else has stood the test of time,
There's only love to keep you warm,
As only love has value that can really last.

When standing on the threshold of a nearing grave,
A tear runs down the cheek of one who's not so brave.
So much to lose and naught to gain,
Just ancient love to make you carry on, and ease the pain.

Copyright RG Crosbie 2008

Men of Reason

Men of reason have always found,
That all good things come from the soil, from simple ground.
And from thence plants grow by sweat and toil,
The hallowed fruits spring up from well tilled soil,
Oft planting helped by unknown hand,
That made the plow to till the land.
And so shall Sion faithful yield, her thousand sacred sweets.
Should men not reason, know it now,
They shall walk alone; shall starve, in corpse filled streets.

© R.G.Crosbie 12/5/09

Selective Memory

A selective memory is a wonderful thing:
It adds convenience to reason.
It allows the avoidance of reality
It also acts as a salve for the conscience, where and if one is present.
It allows one to win arguments, but only from a one-sided point of view.
It is an ego polish that is second to none, as far as the most egomaniacal are concerned.
It helps its possessor to lose friends, and influence no one, except in the negative.
It allows the complete avoidance of any form of reality.
It also allows one’s backside to be held in a perfect position to be severely kicked,
Again, it allows them to forget being kicked, and remember something else.
It then allows one to carry on with the theory that they have won something, no matter how great the loss.
To its users it allows the illusion that the whole world is out of step, except for them.
A selective memory really is a thing of wonder: it creates reason where there isn't any, and makes logical even the most ridiculous of thinking.
Its use is practiced only by the inwardly blind, the logically challenged; and the mentally deranged.

R G Crosbie. © 2005