2 Col 4:4  In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them

which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ,

Who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

We are gathered here divided to put my mind at rest

There is really not much to it but the odor is quite offensive

I know it oft provided with untended compromise at best

and it was full of it as it was constantly on the defensive

When it is six foot under it will probably see the light

Now it always has the answer to instill more confusion

It meditates on “up-yonder” and once in a while is right

but like a ballet dancer its pointed toes pirouettes on illusion

Who will speak the final words with something good to say?

Is it depravity’s brother who heartless pours a word of comfort?

I know them in one accord as flesh exists in their self-formed clay

It’s better if no one bothers among the confused here of sorts

Engrave on the tombstone: “Here rests a mind that loved fiction

It served its own will and thought to be better than most

It departed all alone hanging on to its illusionary affliction

without a clue of judgment and accountability to the Lord of Hosts”

Jan Wienen