by AdamHat

Created on: February 21, 2009

On the Day that God had Died

In jest, I once laid thought unto my bed
My fingers crossed, hands raised unto the sky
Until my thoughts had strolled a path un-led
To wish, to hope, to pray our Lord could die.
So soon I slept til noon I dreamt of Him:
A man I met so old, so wise and had
A crown encrusted head. Then, on a whim,
I fought to strangle Jesus and his Dad.
And from Their corpse, which was but One, I took
That Crown and wore it proud til blood it drew.
Deep within cried my soul a scream that shook
The angels to their Master's bloody slough.

In fright I woke and sought the thought again
And prayed the Lord revoke my hope, my sin.

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