A sense of silence fills the air;
A flash of flame and all the world
is falling down around itself.
A prejudice of hatred grown through
all too many years of violence;
suppressed behind a national defense
of attitude, and world trade will
never be the same again.
Cartels of power, come undone
as iron seams began to melt into
themselves. And then the fall,
a mighty rush of concrete that
would dust the sooty city in
Screams from throats no longer
human; flesh no longer clinging
to their frames, as jet-made flames
began to fuel a hell of living fire -
and a nation comes to feel its
shadow - breaking loose within.
For every time that we've condemned
another, so now we pay the price of
every bomb we've dropped, and all
the acid rain we've come to crop.
For Agent Orange, and endless children
murdered in their homes in Viet Nam.
And so we pray.
Oh Lord, protect the safety and
of these, the homes of rich petitioners.
We'll take our gold and carve your temples
of its purest stock again. Oh God, don't let
them suffer - all the innocents that burned
in place of those who chose base power as
the number one priority.
And so we pray.
For the land of the free, become
than isolated prison camps for forty hours
or more in every week. For the land of the
brave that dare not say to their superior
just what they feel or think or wish to come
to be. For the spite and the anger we hold
deep inside, and the cancer that we war with
endlessly in intimate if yet unseen connection.
For this, we pray - continuance.
And oh, for that American Dream,
houses and cars and myriad things. For
the masks that we don in the outer world.
For toupees, and bright and shiny curls.
For muscle and bone, with no flesh to
be seen; for intellect that leads to sex,
yet never touches hearts that lie between.
For this, we pray.
For businessmen and women that know
how to meditate into a mental ecstasy,
from base to brain, in just one shot of power.
For important papers scattered in the hours
of our demise. For this great net of what they
call "human intelligence" and all its stands for,
even as assassination starts to play its part again.
For this we pray.
And most of all, we pray to pass
unto the children that we bear; that someday
they may lead a life as meaningless as we.
And so we reach religiously to thee yet once
again. And so we pray upon our knees to
you again tonight, lighting scented candles
that outburn the dark of night - in payment
for the all and any sins we might have
(accidentally) let slip into our way of life.
Ye who backed those royal wars of
Church against so many other states of
deity's belief. Ye, who gave the inquisition all
the grandiosity of zeal. Ye, who let your
only son die in an agony of pain and
hopelessness. And oh, the power of life
that ran through crowds of those who
watched those nasty witches burn alive.
To Thee we pray.
We, so angrily divided into classes
claim freedom and democracy at work.
We come again to you to intercede in all
the nastiness that we have seen returning
unto us. And we ask you mainly this - please
help us find a way to blame some other source
again, to keep us free from any guilt or shame
that we so often earned, yet never dared to
feel as real.
Yet mostly for that state of great
used to know as ours, when all the other
nations of the world took notice, and cheered
and bowed to our supposed great authority.
Surely we have proved our worth to you!
It only took us centuries to get beyond the
bond of slavery we used to know as real.
And look, oh Lord, at all the wealth that we
have given back to Africa since then!
For Lincoln's death, and Kennedy's
Viet Nam and the Persian Gulf - such mighty
playing fields of war - where computer games
became the death of many innocent of crime,
as bombers flew so high within the sky, they
never had to look at all the living, human
life they came to kill. For Korea, and for
World War II - surely you approved of all
the might of those atomic bombs we dropped,
as we claimed to put an end to war itself.
For all the teeny, tiny battles
spent in rich
against the poor, or strong against the weak.
For all the deaths those ole' coal mines endured.
And Lord, you must have come to love
the electronics that we have produced!
Just think, there were a few about to die,
able to pick up a phone and say good-bye
to those they loved the most! How dastardly,
those bastards that have dared attack
the inequality of this democracy of
powered minds that still believe that
intellect must rule the all and everything!
Oh God, you must remember how we
slaughtered all those Indians, and came
to claim their land was ours to take and
break. And you know the grandeur of
our mighty military schemes, e'en yet,
as we claim our killing power to remain
at number one. Then too, you must
remember now, the many times we brought
our wealth to help so many we considered,
lesser, than the might of prosperity.
So please, empower all the warriors again.
And this we pray.
And look, oh Lord, we even create
levels cellular these days! As we bombard
the many cancer patients with our wizardry!
And never have to look them in the eye, for
our mechanical inventions make it so.
Biochemically, we are so close to the creation
of a perfect clone of us (too, we must confess
that we have murdered, at this level) - yet this
must settle any questions of the human in the
reproduction of these lives in form - while greatest
of all, we can do it without sex or any sense of
intimacy. Then surely shall the rich and prosperous
outlive and then outnumber any victim that chose
love o'er this prosperity we claim.
Just please, oh please, don't ever
come to feel this fear that we've engendered
in so many others o'er the years.
And this we pray.
(or do we...?)
well... (ahem...) Okay, Amen.
(Hey Lord, do you think you could
all the ignoble and unethical stuff that just
kinda came up in this...?)
(The Second Coming - who shall
we choose to sacrifice and crucify
next...? To you, of course, our God...)
And so we choose...
(Please put an "X" in your choice,
after you hit the "reply" button.
The answers will be computed and
God will get back to you - someday -
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...