Wednesday, 23 October 2013


"Why am I here? 
What is my purpose? 
Why am I made like this?"

"Do not question child,
your time will come."

"But why am I here"

"You were made with a purpose,
made in love. 
You exist to serve
and rise above."

"What is my purpose?"

"You will protect the people,
keep them safe from harm. 
The enemy you will destroy,
him you shall disarm."

"Am I made to fight?"

"That's right."

"And then to kill?"

"That's your role,
determined by his will."

"Why was I made like this?"

"Question not your maker. 
Next to him there's nothing you know. 
His plan is secret,
but when he calls, go."


"Take back your words."


"Stop your rebellion."


"His ways are good. 
His ways are pure, 
Follow his will
and your future's secure"

"I was made for a purpose?"


"For his glory and good?"


"I was made to serve him?"


"By killing, destroying, fighting and might?"

"His will is right."

"Then right is wrong."

"You who is made mustn't question him who made."

"I stand for love."

"Your maker loves,
he loves his people. 
You must love
by protecting his people."

"I stand for freedom."

"Your maker fights,
he fights for freedom. 
You must fight,
so all'll have freedom."

"I stand for peace."

"Your maker pacifies. 
He pacifies the dissenter. 
You must pacify,
destroy the dissenter."

"Semantics, words, I cannot stand your polemics. 
I will not kill."

"You must.  It's his will."

"I will not kill."

"Your purpose you must fill."

"I will not kill."

"Yes.  You.  Will."

"No!  I object.  I demand an audience with my maker."

"What will you, o' formed one, say to him who formed?"

"I'll speak of the men, who he wants to kill. 
I tell of their mothers, children, sisters and brothers."

"O' formed one,
how little you know. 
You appealed to your maker,
you your maker you will go. 
O' but cursed, cursed is the one
who thinks he's got something to say. 
Cursed are you
this very day. 
Your will, it matters not. 
Your plea, land upon deaf ears. 
Your maker will have his way. 
Your mission nears. 
You have not choice,
no agency. 
You were built to kill,
to destroy the enemy."

Thursday, 17 October 2013

How do people feel good about themselves when they feed the poor during the day and then go home at night to a comfy bed while the poor they've fed sleep out in the cold or in a crowded shelter?

I don't ask this question in judgment.  I don't even feed the poor, but if I did, if I saw their faces and knew their names.  If they told me their stories as we shared a meal.  How could I leave them?  How could I but invite them home with me?