Who is this cold and loathsome man
That gave my brother a withered hand?
That churns the seas and scorches land
And hands out life long reprimand.
He leaves two billion starving still
And never sems to get his fill of suffering and adulation,
Narcisistic masturbation,
Cruel and heartless termination.
How can one's judgement become so twisted
To kiss his feet if he insisted?
Those feet with which he kicks us in.
Before he punishes us for sin.
If by some miracle he's there
I do not mind, why should I care?
If he can't understand my views
Then Sod him, it's the route I choose.
I'd rather this than sit in pews
And hang around for more "Good News"
A contest entry
- God by snolan.
900 points, ended June 17, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Your poem flowed well, but I don't see how it connects with the prompt. You certaintly captured the hopelessness which Chartrand seems to feel... but not the hopeful air that el Carmerlengo leaves after his conversation.
Adding your comment:
