Belief's Bridge

 

From a gentle whisper, a faith takes root,

Not from a hand that's heavy, a voice that's mute.

Forced conversion's shadow, a bitter, cold rain,

Washing away freedom, leaving only pain.

"They walked before us, bold and bright,

Leaders who turned darkness into light.

We follow their paths, their steps we trace,

But not all truths wear the same face.

Believe, but let that flame be free,

Not chains of forced identity.

For what they fought for, day and night,

Was not blind faith, but human right.

Their way is not a script to keep,

But seeds of thought, in silence deep.

From faith can rise both saint and sword—

It's love, not fear, that must be heard."

A soul's true temple, a sacred, private space,

Should not be stolen, twisted by time or place.

A bribe of comfort, a promise of light,

Is a cruel darkness, a starless night.

The old ways crumble, a heritage lost,

A silent bargain, what is the true cost?

To change your heart's song, to deny your own mind,

A prisoner's pact, the worst kind.

True belief must blossom, a seed freely sown,

Not a captive flower, on a cold, stony throne.

For the spirit's journey is its own to make,

Not for another's power or another's sake.

A borrowed faith, a heavy, hollow crown,

A soul torn from its native, hallowed ground.

The gentle old gods, forgotten in the dust,

Replaced by fear, and a bitter, forced trust.

The promise of light, a cold and gilded lie,

While ancient stories wither, and traditions die.

A hand that offers help, a hidden, binding chain,

A heart split open, washed by alien rain.

The whispered name of grace, a cruel, sharpened knife,

To carve away a culture, a history, a life.

To shun the family, to turn from all you've known,

And build a gilded cage, on a lonely throne.

The stolen song, a melody of grief,

A shattered root, a withered, yellow leaf.

For some conversions are a quiet, slow defeat,

Where the spirit starves, on a bitter, false-sweet meat.

A soul's own compass, a private, quiet star,

The path we walk, no matter near or far.

Let faith be a choice, a whispered, gentle thing,

Not a heavy chain that superstition brings.

For cruelty wears a mask of sacred lore,

And hate is born on a cold and barren shore.

We must reject the darkness, the ancient, fearful lie,

That makes one human worthy, and another, less than I.

Let's build a bridge of respect, not a wall of scorn,

A world where every sacred tale is born.

For even if all temples turn to dust,

The human heart will beat with love and trust.

And we, the creatures of a fleeting, cosmic breath,

Will walk our path of life, until our final death.

With different thoughts, and hopes, and burning dreams,

And find our purpose in the sunlit streams.