Echoes Of A Broken Covenant

Morality isn't a realised actuality —

it’s a fictional agreement signed in spit and fear,

etched into wet clay heads of children,

molded by hands too rough to know better.

It hardens with time —

like skin cracked by drought,

becoming bone —

rigid, unyielding, unquestionable.

Faith, an unscrupulous stepmother,

breathes fire into those brittle rules,

turns maybes into bloody rights and wrongs,

etched on stone tablets no one dares touch

without burning their own fingers.

But once your tear down that altar —

rip faith away —

what’s left?

Chaos? Freedom?

Or just another set of lies

whispered softly to drown the noise?

Because ethic —

ethic is faith’s bastard cousin,

no prayer pronounces it,

no stained glass window holds its light.

It’s a house of cards built on shaky assumptions —

goodwill, empathy, and a deluded sense of human greatness —

fragile scaffolding in a storm of doubt.

We place our bets on reason —

our secular god with no temples —

but it’s a flickering candle in a hurricane,

a prayer whispered in the dark,

hoping the flame survives till dawn.

No gods? No commandments?

Just millions of messy humans

stitching meaning from dust and desperation.

Faith is the glue holding the cracks,

the bitter pill swallowed daily,

to keep the mirror whole —

knowing fully well, it’s shattered beyond repair.

Morality without faith?

A map drawn on shifting sands,

a dance without rhythm,

a silence waiting for sound.

Yet in that silence,

we reach.

We fight.

We try to be good —

not because some god demands it —

but because a fragile spark inside us

refuses the void.

We learn the rules not as chains,

but as compass through the chaos —

a language made of scars,

a promise we make to ourselves

to stand when the world folds.

Morality is survival.

Morality is rebellion.

Morality is the only faith we can afford

when gods fall silent.

So maybe faith and ethic —

they’re two sides of the same coin,

flipped in the air,

landing on different truths for every believer.

But here’s the ugly truth:

faith, morality, ethics —

they’re all human-made —

fractured, fragile, flawed.

And no, that’s not enough.

But, it’s all we have.

In this godless, cracked world,

there is no quiet promise,

no soft hands, no lasting voices.

Only the cracks beneath us,

splitting open, swallowing whole.

So tell me —

if faith is just a story we tell ourselves to survive,

when the gods are gone

and the silence devours everything

what story will you leave behind?