Untitled Poem by greg richardson
Untitled
I can't bear
to see the fools
kneeling in their churches
begging for forgiveness
and praying
for only God knows what.
Do you think He hears them?
He blocks them out.
It is shameful
how they cry
and flail
and the more sober ones
bore him to death.
I'm surprised
I've lived
as long as I have.
and their morals,
if you want
to call them that,
are a bunch
of millarky
in a hobo's hat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/18/2024 8:25:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
