Merely Players Poem by Jan Freundschuh

God saw me, and grimaced.
That is my religion, deep down.
It's my karmic come-uppance.
See the prison gates close on me
What to do? .....what to do? .....

After you've been raised by wolves, how do you walk to the city?
After you've been sightless for a lifetime, how to interpret light patterns?
How do you take the grimace out of mind
When your father still recoils today?
Trapped again. Trapped still.

The 'Helping Hand Extended' says:
'Let it be, let it roll over you,
You're not really present.
Let 'her' hurt, let 'her' hate.
Don't be afraid of her hating, don't squelch it.
It's just the consequence of the trap;
The trap itself but Premise of your Play.
Let theatrical cause and effect happen. What's it really to you? '

I say, Are You sure You don't grimace when I hate?
You say, It's hard to choose between Gods:
(God who Grimaces, God as Playwright) ,
But the dog you feed, wins.