The Lambs of God

It's always the impoverished
that get it worse.

On occasions the wealthy
get it,
but the poor
can expect to get it worse.

Mother Nature
goes for the weakest buildings,
the driest wood,
the lowest,
most fragile among us
The meek often end up
precipitously dead.

Often, I ponder
about inheriting the Earth
I mean, is it worth it?

Often, I wonder if lightning bolts
especially single-out the meek.

I guess it's good to be special.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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