The-Utopia-Code

Religion, akin to a potent substance, in its measured doses, can cultivate tranquility, patience, tolerance, and understanding. It can instill a profound sense of inner peace, love, and harmony, resonating within the depths of one's being. Religion, much like a drug, can foster an internal state of well-being, eliciting feelings of jubilation, wonder, and awe that transcend the mundane. It has the power to inspire, motivate, and encourage, making one feel more connected, more integral to the grand mosaic of existence. Yet, when misused or consumed in excess, much like narcotics drugs, it can breed anger, resentment, and narrow-mindedness. It can distort the lens through which we view our fellow beings. When one becomes engulfed by the waves of religion, it can breed hatred, mistrust, and devaluation of their fellow humans. Misuse of religion, akin to substance abuse, can lead to delusional thinking. Sparking a descent into violence and cruelty. Under its

Forage: Exchanger Hurts My eyes started opening up and I find myself staring onto the wall in front of me. I lies upon the cold grounds below, within a square spaced room with only the door behind me. Here, everything was silent that I just hear the loud ringing in my own ear. I yawned after some time before raising myself up to my own feet. Dusting anything that had latched onto my own fur and looked around once more. The room that I was in was empty. Not a single thing was located here. It was sad really, for I had wondered if I could find something useful that would aid me into finding my chief. But I just shake my head and turned around. Eyeing upon the door in front of me, I had started to walk forth. Till I reached the door. I grabbed onto the handle and tilted it down. A click was heard and at the instant, the door was opened for me. I went through the door. The first thing I had noticed was how big the other side of the door was. Thousands of rows of whatever contains upon

The God of a Schizophrenic By J.C. Solis Why must I suffer this pain so profound? Why must I keep this mind that is unsound? Why, My Lord, must I keep feeling this pain? A feeling that just never seems to wane Why, My Father, do you allow this woe? For why must I deal with this heavy foe? Why must I feel toyed, as part of a game? A victim of this Evil with no name For I clung to faith, which waned ever so And I hope that you will now see and know How, over these years, I have lost my mind How the world is cruel to those of my kind Why, My Father, do I hear not a word? Why have you abandoned your loyal herd? Why must my tears still be shed down my face? Why do I still not feel your warm embrace? I know some people would say that I’m wrong To sing your praise and honor you in song That I would dare to still honor your name Despite this ordeal being yours to blame But I’ve clung true despite these foul recants I’ve denied so long the seeds that they’d plant I’ve shunned

My little horror show, a life no longer comforting, but still, it keeps going. The motorcycle wrecks of my youth my reckless dances with fate— etched into my bones. Each scar a whispered memory, a testament to youthful invincibility. My body now a relic, a museum of aches and regrets, pathetic and worn, like an old leather jacket that's seen too many storms. What was it all for? The wild rides, the laughter, the reckless abandonment— I wouldn't change much, for those moments were my currency, spent freely on the carousel of life. Friends, once vibrant constellations, now fading stars, their light extinguished, Leaving behind echoes of laughter, and empty barstools. I’ve seen so many lives tumble and burn. Some by going too fast but more by moving too slow. My body, a crumbling temple, no longer capable of half the feats it once reveled in. Yet, there are still moments usually after a few drinks, when I look up at the stars, and they shimmer like forgotten dreams. These

In the broken light of shadows fall, comes a beacon of light, on the break of waves Shadows cast to fall in the undertow and the undertaker, task maker Graver the days at play of cradles in the night Through the eye of a needle Lost in a haystack, blowing smoke rings, halos to the Heavens Shrouded in by and surrounded by the eye of the advancing storm To lay down your arms on a bed of roses she waits, as she lies to rest in the eiderdown of cotton woolly clouds On the coming storm cells, on the rise and fall Of the changing of seasons Taken back to Broken mountain, aloft, adrift the howling winds of recourse and change Born into a pack of wolves Through no fault of your own self worth, your place of birth and rest Out on the prairie of Silent night, away in a manger The light of Christ on the back of your crucifix Thrown to the wilderness May the Lord have mercy on us all, by the grace of God New moon on the rise Lunar rays a deluge in a teacup A storm that rages