Sometimes
God puts strange words
In my mumbling mouth
So easy to blame
Such a vast target
Almost unmissable
Through the cross-hairs
Bullseye of all
Bullseyes
Why he does it
I do not know
Nor should I
For I am but
A messenger
And he the scribe
His business
None of mine
Until that final
Delivery
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem