The bishops in Rome were having a day
Bedevilled by how to increase their pay
The witches were burned, the commies at bay
But all was not well, “Come let us pray.”

“We’ve all the third worlders needed for now
Shone light on their darkness, taught them to bow
Our niggle is not the beggars’ belief
But cash we can grab for fiscal relief.

“So what are the options, where can we search?
More and more people are leaving the church
The plate isn’t full, we´re not going to last
We’ll be condemned to our glorious past.”

Soon someone soft sighed, “I’m bursting a gland
I think I’ll come out, though still we are banned.”
“Shut up!” said his “friend,” “We can´t go half-cocked,
There are no queer priests, we´d soon be defrocked.”

Undeterred but unsure, voice slightly cowed
“What say you frères to the light-loafered crowd?
We meet their needs then take what they offer
Disposable wealth to plenish the coffer.

“The Jews won’t convert, the Muslims much less
Anglicans balk when it’s time to confess
Don’t touch the trannies nor suffer the drags
But tough times call out to call in the fags.”

The hardliners twitch and let out a yell
“Those disordered freaks can all go to hell
This goes against God and we’ll not partake
Oh for the past when they’d burn at the stake.”

A week wends the battle between yea and nay
Hanging in balance, the souls of the gay
But fixed altar egos smite the more brash
“The Good Book is clear – enough of this trash.”

Thus the great Church which sanctions much hate
Says now’s not the time to open its gate
“Don´t love the sinner nor forgive the sin
Pardon no faggots nor welcome them in.”

Ignoring the blood which drips down its robes
Mad marching orders to all homophobes
So young men must hide or take their own lives
Or pass lonely years with unwitting wives.

Life is right now and pleasure is fleeting
No time to waste on come-to-God meetings
Or fall for the Bible, (Torah or Koran)
Of half-truths and myths conjured by man.

With science, with genes, our nature is known
Not those who trumpet some heavenly throne
Limit our learning to sell us a fable
Banish them from the grand knowledge table.

And to the synod of God’s little men
Irrelevant gnomes from moribund fen
Put on your high-hat and cloistering clothes
The cognitive world again holds its nose.

Copyright Paul Heno 2014