They say your word is pure: untouched rains from the heavens.
Untouched by Man.
But how can that be so?
So much of what they think you say are reckless words that pierce like swords.
The tongues of the wise do not cut like this.
Surely, The Truth of God lies somewhere underneath the slicing rubble of madness and corruption.
I will need a pick-axe to chisel away the hard, sharp pieces of cruel rock,
A shovel to move away the dirt of ignorance,
A brush to move aside the remaining dust of distraction.
The years of unhappy history have accumulated on top of it like layers of soil.
Why do they think that the surface is all there is to know of God?
Why do they fear those who use questions to dig away the loam that covers up what lies beneath?