The wind became smoke
Create means to make from scratch. A creature is made with nothing, it is wind, breath ... a word ?
Believing means accept an assertion improvable true.
Thus, a believer can not be certain for what he believes. Faith is an uncertainty.
If God were proven, then faith would disappear.
Faith gone, the certitude would prevail. And all religious infrastructure would crumble, become useless.
Let the God hypothesis.
It is clear that God created the creatures so they kill each other, is not it ?
If God turns men bastards, so I reject God.
If men believe that God justifies their crimes, these men are simpletons afraid of their own nothingness.
Humanity begins where all shape of life germ.
God explain ? No.
God is it comforting ? No.
God is legitimate ? No.
So what is God ? What is its use, its utility, its service ? Nothing.
God is useless. What do you do with a useless concept ? We throw it out.
We throw a "nothing". In fact, we do not throw anything because there's nothing to throw.
God is a smoke, a fiction, which helps some powerless to impose their stupidity and their existential fear, as a dictatorship which subjects minds through coercion of bodies.
God is the crutch of the weak.
God is the dope cowards, that transforms their paralysis of fear in fanatic frenzy.
Over time, some have learned restraint, tolerance enforced.
God's fool does not think, he thundered.
God's fool does not speak, he belches.
God's fool does not love, he excludes.
God's fool does not forgive, he kills.
God's fool does not judge, he condemns.
God's fool understands nothing, he drowns in his anger boiled.
God's fool is a reality that thinks to be his fiction.
Brief, a megalomaniac decerebrate slave of his intoxication.
Because he accepts his limited natural mortal condition, the sage does not need God.
If life is spread through procreation, it also maintains through death, the handover of molecules so that the future happens. Continuity of the universe which is exploring other evolutionary branches, each being substituted for the fallen.
(Matthew Merrypoplar, 1852 – 1938 / Ignored modern poetry of the nineteenth century, Publisher : Crown Raven)
