A dedication and plea to the begotten,
Write as if it’s already forgotten.
It is Thursday. Is it not? A remembrance of a god.
He might disagree, the limelight brought him nought.
Should’ve charged a fee, but… a god couldn’t be bought.
Yet the measure of pleasure is a ledger of treasure untoward pressure for gesture.
And no.
There is no account for the beggar, for ‘tis only to weather the temple of terror.
you know?
god? Is it not God?
Who am I referring to… if not God?
There is a God. Is there a god?
Maybe send a sign? A nod?
But none I know accepts a fee.
Oh. Oh. But yes.
There are those still tithing you see.
Beggar nonetheless.
Wait. Who begs. Not He. Not he.
I lose myself.. I confess.
Is not he just He. Or me?
Oh my head! Tis’ quite the mess…
What’s today called?
It is Thursday. Is it not? A remembrance of a god.
Oh! He will agree! The lightning each time thunder brought.
A sound that makes one flee, a god? An afterthought?
Yet to venture in pleasure is to only remember to gesture, no pressure
And lo!
There’s a throne for the swagger, ‘tis better together, if only ever…
A show!
God? Are you there? You get that a lot?
If you are then is it not, all but odd?
a god caught, well, within the plot?
Did I ask? I think.. that you should nod?
maybe not.
But yet there is decree!
the book! just look! unless…
There are those just wanting you be
In robes, they dress and bless
The Father, the Son, the three.
One which the hand doth impress
A flex? That we, just take a knee?
A mind, that’s doomed to guess.
What…
What’s today called?