Member Poem

Birth of a New Religion

The endless decay of passion into ritual,

Into the substanceless form of an alien cant.

What we firmly believe, the product of pure reason,

Accepted blindly by our children, and ritualized,

Worn smooth by use,

Becoming the plots of crumbling earth in the

Attics of our descendants;

To be swept out the open door when even

The hardened kernels of meaning have worn away.

Swept out to make way for new fabrics,

For the new religion..