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The God, The People and The Child
"Love us," said the People to the God,
staring up into the endless fog.
"Give us light so we may see,
give us shelter so we may be,
give us pleasure, give us wonder,
take away the pain and thunder.
Give us dreams, dear God above
give us passion, give us love."
But the God stares down in solemn silence,
and gives them hate and fear and violence.
Gives them agony, gives them strife,
makes them suffer in their life.
"Fear me," said the God to the People,
perched upon a bloodstained steeple.
"Pray to me and beg and cower,
give me all your stolen power,
only those who see will be,
worship me through agony.
Give me fear and love each breath,
or suffer for it after death."
And the People stare with fearful awe,
they take down notes and write out law,
they battle and kill in name of God,
they patch the blood with dirt and sod.
"But why," said the Child to the God,
standing deep in a sinking bog.
"Why ask for love and give us hate,
why make us fear an unknown fate?
Why give us dreams when we still bleed,
why give us pain and dreadful greed?
Do you hate us, God above?
Do you reject all our love?"
There was no voice from high above,
the answer came from a burning dove.
It's wings were bent, powerless,
the flames they licked, blazed, caressed.
Then the God, the People and the Child saw,
all were alike and all were in awe.
They cried and screamed and then they ran
all their hate was the shoulders of Man.
