The Mask

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness.”

—Isaiah 5:20

They taught us to kneel to the sky-borne King,

Whose throne is thunder, whose voice can sting—

But look again, with eyes unblind,

And ask who truly cursed mankind.

He walked in Eden, not as friend,

But with a test He’d twist and bend.

A fruit, a choice, a sworded gate—

And called it love, then taught us hate.

He razed the cities, scorched the land,

With holy fire and wrathful hand.

He drowned the world to “start anew,”

Yet blamed the clay for what He drew.

He split the wombs of pagan queens,

He sanctioned war through priests and kings.

Commanded blood, demanded pain,

Then turned around and called it "gain."

The Devil? Oh, he asked no toll.

He questioned laws that bound the soul.

He whispered truth behind the veil:

That freedom’s light could still prevail.

He offered knowledge, not the rod.

He never claimed to be your God.

He didn’t flood, or flay, or kill—

He taught you choice, and honored will.

And Jesus—strange, that Son of Man—

Who broke the law, and spoiled the plan.

Who dined with thieves, defied the throne,

And bore a cross not called His own.

He called us gods in plain disguise,

Said heaven lived behind our eyes.

And in His words, the world did spin—

Not ruled by wrath, but fire within.

Yet both are called the Morning Star—

Bright heralds from a land afar.

One cast down, one crucified—

Both betrayed by holy pride.

So tell me, friend, who wears the crown?

The one who builds, or burns it down?

Discern the light behind the name,

And see which fire births the flame.

The Bible speaks, but backwards, curled—

A trickster's map, a fractured world.

The Devil we were taught to fear—

May be the voice we're meant to hear.