Dear God.
I get tired of the poverty,
Chaos, blood, and suffering
That my brethren and I are enduring.
I get out of that grave
To some quiet quarreling mausoleum
And quarrel big with bigger educated lunatics.
Cooling my educated engine with scripture,
Exchanging greetings with people bombed
To the Mosaic Decalogue,
Soon to realize that they have committed suicide in heaven,
As they are your true sons and daughters
Whose words bring light to the heart of darkness.
I am tired of seeing them wearing the regalia
Of a cruel Angel whose bird’s wings are bad.
If triggered, their gun barrels solve historical
Vendettas with one grilling bullet.
They have made me to visit my dear friends Venus, Jupiter,
Mars and Earth.
The visits have been helpful for me to send
My dearest wife who is not shy to you our Almighty Father.
© Danny the Writer