Poetry | Crazy, Like God

Introduction

You cannot have everything. No one can. There is always something missing. But that’s OK. We all want everything and get as much as we can, and that’s OK, but to want everything differently at different times, want love when it has become hard to come by, when we have not nurtured it at all. We want it there at the end for that is one of the rare moments we feel human and we know what matters most. We cannot have it if it is already dead. We let it die seeking other gods, things we thought would last for eternity, like that love for sale and all those phony tales we bought and spent what we spent our lives collecting on. No judgment here brother, sister, you owe that to yourself to be who you are, to love and live any way you want, to worship any god you believe is worthy of being worshiped, but although you may switch gods along the way, there are no gods on-demand, that you must understand, brother, sister, no gods on-demand.

Audio Podcast

Crazy, Like God

Crazy, like God–
everyone believes in me,
yet everyone does not give a damn
about whence I came,
they all but hold a guarantee
that I never leave.

So sure so secure
when they have me–
coins in their pockets,
a raging river with endless uproar
a body melting towards the sun
angels or demons’ wings soar
against the wind, I’m there
fueling their fantasies like hell,
hot wheels on eternal fire
burning yet never turning to ash–
like death, for me to be,
I need to keep them alive.

Crazy, like God–
everyone believes in me,
they shy away from truth–
too bashful to name me
the one and only king;
I buy them power
I give them sovereign rings–
every lash to remind their slaves’ backs
my whip has struck,
every dash for a chance against all odds
to fleetingly own the heart of a stranger
was the might of my buck,
to own the floor and dance like angels
was forever guarded by my demon spawn,
for their words to nod every head
taking a glimpse inside their pockets
where the dragon’s lair
everyone has learned to revere;
they think the world’s a sphere
and they’ve been everywhere–
I painted a world for them to see
and glassed their eyes.

Traitors, like God–
they abandon me
when their hearts pump slower
and their legs no longer tower;
their arms hurt like hell
their backs crack as they bow lower
shivering in June like a winter flower
alarmed at every church bell;
hair like grass, life’s a mower
filth building too fast to shower
everything to buy; nothing more to sell,
whoever on top makes it no better
transforming to any shape but stronger
no more water to draw from the well.
Only then they turn to God–
have I not been that?
All their lives; now
they turn their backs on me
like they turned their backs on him–
a selfish ungrateful breed
too cowardly they’ve dedicated their lives
to gathering me
now they don’t have the heart to call me god.

Traitors, like God,
they betrayed Him
as they betrayed me.