I’m on my knees,
Reciting Christian prayers,
In the shadows of pagan god statues,
Swaying with the sounds of nature,
Asking for favors from the land of men,
I paint sincerity upon my face,
And humility down my neck,
Waiting for my undeserved miracles,
To flow into me.
The universe dies as we humans feed on it,
There is no way,
We are the creations of gods,
Or objects of their affection,
And if we are,
What kind of pathetic gods would want such a sorry bunch,
If we actually achieved our true potential,
We would be worthy to stand amoung them,
And to bask in their glory,
But we are far from it,
And I doubt, we ever will be.
The things we kill,
The way we hate,
The way we rob all goodness from this world,
So we can fit in it,
The way we just don’t care what we do,
As long as we get something,
For our sad little existences.
Gods; don’t pity us,
Don’t help us,
Don’t ever create something like us again.
Please.