Pity the atheist, bitter and cold,
Who simply refuses to look
Ignoring the beautiful things to be found
In the pages of one special book.
Pity the atheist’s closed little mind
Which denies any mention of God
Where faithful see castles, and streets paved with gold,
He sees nothing but hollow facade. (continues after the jump…)
Pity the atheist, lost in his world
Where he’s vainly ignoring God’s powers
He can’t look for beauty in chapter and verse
But in butterflies, maybe, and flowers
Pity the atheist, gazing at stars
Or at galaxies, light-years away
Or into a microscope, looking at stuff,
Or around, at a beautiful day
Pity the atheist’s hard little heart
Denying a God up above
Whose friends and whose family (pity them all)
Have only each other to love
Pity the atheist, trapped in the world,
Unfaithfully using his head…
Or look at the beauty that’s there to be seen,
And pity believers instead.
It’s Christmas time, which means the comment sections on the various stories on the War Against Christmas allow me to see what some people really think about atheists. I am apparently a bitter, twisted, hateful shell of a man who cannot see beauty and does not believe in love.
It’s like there’s a spy in my office.