It Lives Poem by Francie Lynch

I awaken mornings feeling upbeat,
Praying my prayers set like concrete.
But No!
This repetitive routine has no soul.

Perhaps I'm praying wrong.
Perhaps He prefers a song.
Perhaps praying doesn't suffice,
For the demise of the Orange Anti-Christ.
(but the Creature lives... it sucks up all our hopes) .

I'll pray again tonight:

'Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray that God won't willfully keep
That blakened spot he calls his soul,
But send it to Hell for our repose.'