look my friend,I'm not the most religious but...
Don’t tell me it lives in stone and glass,
While you walk right past the working class.
Don’t dress it up in lace and gold—
Then watch the hungry die in cold.
It doesn’t hide behind a gate,
Or whisper falsehoods cloaked as fate.
It doesn’t preach then pass the plate,
While selling grace at interest rate.
It doesn’t sit where power grows,
Where silence feeds and no one knows.
It doesn't bless the rich man’s gain,
Then call the poor the ones to blame.
Don’t quote it just to win a fight,
Then trade your morals overnight.
Don’t speak of peace with bloodied hands—
You’ve built a throne on sinking sand.
It’s not a smile that hides control,
Not rules designed to tax the soul.
Not pious masks to duck the truth,
Or doctrines used to rob the youth.
You call it love—then draw a line,
Build walls, and claim your hate’s divine.
You bow and break, but never bend,
Your charity is just pretend.
You light a candle, say you’re saved—
But who’d you hurt the night you prayed?
It’s not your script, your brand, your name.
It’s not a pawn in power games.
It won't conform to rules you write,
Then break in secret every night.
It doesn’t clap, it doesn’t wait,
It won’t be dragged through fear or hate.
It doesn’t sit in silence, numb—
It stands. It speaks. It doesn’t run.
It’s in the face you won’t defend,
The stranger you won’t call a friend.
It’s in the wound you won’t go near—
The trembling hand, the quiet fear.
It’s not a code to twist and sell,
Not incense burnt to cover hell.
It’s not a name to shout and swerve—
It’s not a noun. It is a verb.
©gj30
G