by Larry Brody
NOTE FROM LB
No better demonstration of how history repeats itself than this poem, written at a turning point in my life long ago. The specifics are different, but at this turning point in world history, on this particular holiday, the need and the question remain the same.
The Poet Beseeches His Lord
I speak to God now,
As I never have before.
I speak straight, no jokes or
Snide comments, Only a heart that still
Cries for more. “Our Father,
Who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name…”
Are you listening, Lord?
Can you feel my ache, my despair?
Once I demanded significant answers, seeking
Truth, and the knowledge of why life was unfair.
Now I move to more immediate things,
No heavenly meanings, not one cosmic concern.
I beg you not for the basis of
Universal injustice, but simply—
Christ!—simply, oh mighty Elohim,
Can’t you stop what you are doing to us now?
Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.
