Dear God

Morning calls the jay bird now,
his blackened eyes, widened brow.
Perched upon a sturdy bough,
Searched the lawn for morning chow…

Worms.  Yuk.
I mean, what to fuck?
Are you kidding me?
What was God smoking?

He creates this beautiful thing
to stun the eye and beautifully sing,
to take flight on feathered wing –
and all for what?
To eat bugs?

I’m finally going to call this thing.
Monday morning quarterbacking.
That was just a bad call.
I’m not saying that you’re not omnipotent,
and all that.
Just that I would have played that one differently.



© 2014 John Allen Richter



About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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