See now the strong-hearted
from Faith, rudely departed
For, they say, if God is real,
what then is the pain that we feel?
And with aching backs they sow
the gritty seeds of their own woe.
So in the guise of poetry
they artfully tend their misery.
With their pens, they devise
their own set of exquisite lies
and pleading for some god in their despair
ignore the God already there.