A cosmic camel wanders vast,
Across the void where shadows cast.
Its humps hold stars and astral plight,
Yet gazes down on Earth’s dull fight.
A fake god struts, adorned in flame,
No holy echo, just a name.
He roams the halls, both proud and vain,
A self-made idol, soaked in stain.
In corridors gilded, stained with dread,
Canceling reason, thought lies dead.
He bends the light of sacred creed,
To serve his hubris, sow his seed.
With smiles that gleam but hearts undone,
They twist the cross to hide the gun.
His gospel spews a sterile grace,
While freedom weeps beneath its face.
The cosmic camel hums, bemused,
At scripts rewritten, truths refused.
It sees their sermons, laced with chains,
A crown of thorns turned whip of pain.
Authoritarian robes, ill-fit,
Worn by a god who throws a fit.
He trades compassion, trades the dove,
For power masked as holy love.
Oh, cosmic wanderer, wise and old,
Tell of their stories, bought and sold.
How temples rise on shallow ground,
While prophets choke on lies profound.
The constellations sigh and spin,
Observing chaos deep within.
For stars outlast the mortal plight,
And camels muse in cosmic night.
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