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” O M G ” a poem for Sunday, the 1st day of December, in the year of our Lord 2 0 1 9

“God. You’re hurting us. God. You’re hurting us. Hurting us all the time.”

I, GOD, try to stop up my ears, but their incessant murmuring is SO SUBLIME,

THAT I JUST CAN’T HELP HEARING THEM.

“God. You’re hurting us.” So, I just wait,

Until THEY REALIZE THEY’RE JUST HURTING THEMSELVES;

And, perhaps, it is their fate,

That they just can’t realize THAT NO ONE HURTS THEM; only them.

“God. You’re hurting us. Stop hurting us. Oh, God, please. AMEN.”

Even when I tell them: “OK, YOUR WISH IS GRANTED,”

It only relieves them for a short while;

Then, with renewed fervor, they have chanted,

FOREVER and EVER in Time and Space:

“God. Stop hurting us.” But, actually, I’M NOT EVEN HERE; yes, The Human Race,

Is ALL ALONE, Complaining and sad,

Blaming. Ranting MOST DAYS awfully mad.

Occasionally, they’ll STOP, but I think they’re addicted,

To blaming and fault finding; still, “I,” GOD they haven’t evicted,

For they like to hold me hostage in The House of The Lord;

IT GIVES ‘EM SOMETHING TO DO.

Bitter gall they? [WE ALL] have poured.

fin β™₯

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Published by J Jay Samuel Davis

A West Texas Cowboy, seeking "fishers of (wo)men!"

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