David Wakeling | + Follow Poet |
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God Pty Ltd

Ancient sinister fires dwell in the savage creator's eye,
Soon his fire starter will be coming for a second try,
Choosing to believe, that which cannot be seen cannot be rude,
A cloak and dagger God who spies on the prey but is not viewed, 
Content to let innocent children be punished for their sins,
While his ever present servant, Death sits on the fence and grins.
With bony fingers that reach out and cut human flesh like glass,
To drain the blood from the fresh faces of once glorified men,
Who, terrified, wrestle with their anger, lost in the long grass,
They are now, blind heroes clawing at anything near their den.
The presence of Death has made them into wild beasts that destroy,
For now is the season of the killer who cannot find joy.

Don't bother threatening me, God, I have not lived like a king.
I have courted too many long years of pain and suffering,
To be convinced by your son's bleeding palms and his burning heart,
How do you love and protect the typhoid children in the cart.
Oh Death, I know, will come to me as soft as a wind swept cloud,
But despair and disappointment will surround me like a shroud.

The new poets with their weak messages and strong conviction,
New, rambling visionaries who know the cyclone is coming,
Will warn and yet not be able to prevent its destruction,
Their dark songs and psalms will fall on the deaf like wretched moaning.

Life is juggling broken glass, and I fear is not for the weak,
For most of us it is a slow walk too near the cliff at night,
Yet those who love God describe it as just a walk in the park,
Yet trusting children are having nightmares and waking in fright,
The gentle, see infinite waste and record their hopes in books,
But they are burdened beyond the cure, slumber embraces,
Sleep is now a sad aging prostitute, who has lost her looks,
A bowed lady who beckons us to dark disturbing places,
Promising joy, like sirens, and yet singing nothing but woes, 
And still we all go to her even in our shame and despair,
We wander asleep like the sneak thief stamps to the dark gallows,
And finally we fall like the condemned man slumps to the chair.

You cast the dice and the good men are punished with the evil,
You are not to be heard and unable to be loved at will,
Therefore, I can never forgive you for this awful mistake,
So go on tempt me with the poison fruit you know I will take.

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