Poem for the Sun

There- among the Pink Milk of Dusk
Sits an Ivory God, White as Elephant Tusk
Created by Men who've too much time with their Pens
That label us Worshipers as bags full of Sin

But who has born this Child, this Christ?
For I am certain it was no Carpenters Wife
It was the Piper, the Gypsy, the Money Lover
That swindles the Masses by Religions Cover.

But in the Noon time my Maker Reigns Clear!
Spiraling closer, Year after Year
Oh Horus! Oh Ra! How can I give Proof-
That You are Maker, Master, and Truth?