An Epileptic God

God must have had an epileptic fit-- sputtering with spittle,

Shaking,

Uncontrollably making

Mistakes in the order of it all.

Giving us nuclear fission

With eyes but no vision,

Ears, heads, and lungs

To breathe, nod, and listen

Long after tongues

Spoke of secular division,

And the rights for war and prison,

For bullets and bombs

Spilling innocent crimson

Lacking conscience, aiming with precision

Lives are finished-- willed by lies

Diminishing the voice and size

of the victim

To dismay

Or kill whoever stands in the way

of the system.

Well, I say

To hell with them

And their hateful way.

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed