Previously posted by me April 14, 2006








The sacred day of Easter comes,
When every Christian household hums.
Baskets with eggs and bunnies too,
and kiddies get some clothes, all new.

Just everyone is seen in church.
The preacher sits upon his perch.
Tells of your son whose blood dripped down
to save the sinners of the town.

I squirm each time I have to hear
that torture tale of death and fear.
They put your son then in a tomb,
a big one with a lot of room.

He wouldn't stay; three days went by,
and he was as alive as I.
I find that yarn real hard to take.
God, didn't you make a big mistake?

If you're powerful like they say,
couldn't you find a better way?
All sungods seem to be connected,
`Cause all were killed and resurrected.

reprinted from The Willamette Freethinker,
newsletter for the Corvallis Secular Society, 1999