BABYLON.
If there is a God why doesn’t it kill me now?
Sorry, I mispronounced that.
If there is a God why doesn’t it reveal itself to me now?
Now there’s this lingering question:
Is it real?
I asked my conscience, but
We’ve never seen it,
But it made us in it's image,
It's got a good sense of hubris,
We’ve never seen it,
I think I can beat it,
Sorry, I mispronounced that.
I think I want to be it.
Just like the almighty one above,
But I don't want the praise,
Leave the Amen I want an omen.
“I’m angry at you.”
There I go again talking to myself.
Guide that inspired this poem: