Golden fundamentalism

The worship of the $

We've all become familiar with the fundamental nature

of sacraments explosive and the gospel of the crater

Of the body and the blood we find so often separated

in the unholy communion of the religiously segregated

The violently feuding siblings of a father apathetic,

resolutely praying towards the past in tones of the prophetic

Oblivious to this world with eyes fixated on the next,

a bloodied bibliography found in every chosen text

Whilst lost in the distraction of this messianic spectacle

we've been incarcerated in an institute correctional

by yet another philosophy that borders the fanatical,

simple parables forgone for sermons mathematical

Parasitically hijacked, held hostage in this heist,

subverted like the message of a white skinned jesus christ

Revelations cast in gold whilst silver greases palms,

Judas celebrated and emulated in these psalms

Baptismal fonts in living rooms that preach and testify,

willing sacrificial minds offered up to crucify,

nailed upon the billboards, pierced with forged wants and desires,

the pious show devotion through the excess they acquire

Shopping mall salvation, pilgrims flood through Meccas gate,

rosaries of plastic swiped as they offer round the plate

Rap song hymns of abundance, choirs draped in bling and gold,

celebrating flesh transcending to a product bought and sold

The doctrine of the trinity worshipped within this creed,

the holy market father, corporate Son and ghost of greed,

possessing empty vessels forged in kilns mass manufactured,

the moneylenders took the temple whilst their wares kept us enraptured

There is no God but Dollar, tolerance is heresy,

to doubt the Markets dictates will be deemed as blasphemy

Views grow ever narrower through economic stricture,

financial declarations as immutable as scripture

Modern day crusades to found a global Holy land,

the pen may have replaced the sword, but blood's still in demand

Missionary institutions holding countries in their clutch,

converting reluctant heathens, a messianic midas touch

Born from fundamental wombs the horseman numbered four

roam the earth relentlessly, and it seems forever more

For we seem to feel the need to bow, to mimic others form

to be created in an image over simply being born