By Wil C. Fry, 2018.01.18, 10:33

(Copyright 2018 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.)

Shackles on my mind
Served to keep me blind
Truth I could not find
Darkness is not kind

Stunted by indoctrination
Lies in a “Christian nation”
Threatened with damnation
Sulfuric conflagration

Striving to use reason
A lock with no keys in
Worried it was treason
No easy way to ease in

Glowing like a spark
Shining in the dark
Rising from the fog
Bleeding like a dog

Heaving heart pounding
The corner now rounding
Every fact astounding
Relief’s sigh resounding

A mind needs to be rebuilt
After rising from the silt
That buried me like a quilt
And filled my soul with guilt

I wrote the fourth stanza on 2018.01.15, and I knew it was about my rise from Christianity to reason. Three days later, I added the rest.

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