This world has no more to offer than
death, poverty, violence, evil
It is a rotting lump of dust,
we are the flies that drink its blood.
We are the destroyers.

It is us, who live,
not understanding--
not caring--
except about
what we will wear and eat
and how long until the next vacation?

Now the creator himself weeps
over the things we do without thinking.

Why can't we hear?
Why are we so deaf to
the tears he sheds
just because we resist
the love in his heart--
so great that noone
could ever stop it,
and we--
who he gave life to
who he smiled at
who he took in his hands
and spoke our name...
who he molded
out of his very image...
who he loves,
who are his children
reject him.

Our smallest decisions fracture the universe into
hate, greed, pain, sadness
Our lips cause tears to flow
Yet we don't move--
to comfortable to move.

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