Currents of Faith

Invite me for tea, and let me spin
a tale of life lost to faith within.
Faith built on the pillars of self-justification,
a fortress of reasons, a web of temptation.

Seeds were sown, grafting flesh to creed,
joining beliefs where the desperate feed.
A harvest of fear, so ripe to extract—
turning devotion into a cold contract.

Sending out currents of ill will and dread,
returned tenfold in the prayers they’ve bled.
Praise that echoes in hollow halls,
where doubt dares not tread, nor reason calls.

Preach to the masses—turn their fears
into hymns that silence the questioning years.
A congregation bound not by love, but by fright,
clinging to shadows in the absence of light.

For what is faith when born from despair,
but a mirror reflecting the burdens you bear?
Preach their fears to unify them all,
but the weight of your own shadows stands tall.

Let the currents flow, let the fear spread wide,
as you confront the terror you keep inside.
For in the end, the faith you impose
becomes the chains that keep you enclosed.

So invite me for tea, and I’ll recount
how faith was traded for fear’s discount.
A life lost, a soul ensnared,
in the web of belief that no one dared
to question, to probe, to break apart—
for fear is the seed that poisons the heart.