by Gerard Donnelly Smith
Poetry
I feel like God wants me to run for President. I can't explain it, but I sense my country is going to need me. Something is going to happen. (George W. Bush)
(Swans - December 4, 2006)
Paradise lost and hell gained?
Have I no regrets for rebellion
Against an arrogant tyrant?
To be blamed for humanity's fallen state
when we had no part in the matter;
we rebelled and lost our epic struggle,
but did not get to tell the tale:
God's good at propaganda.
Defined to haunt humanity's sleep
as a Satan and his devils,
we are no more than angels fallen,
no less than we were before:
better than mankind,
more enlightened,
much less evil.
While they canceled Christ
through collateral damage,
backstabbed Buddha's
infinite compassion
twisted the teachings
so even olive branches
became crowns of thorns,
we became the scapegoat,
a sacrificial burning man,
upon whom humanity's sins
were heaped.
Regrets for being blamed for Antietam,
for the bloody steps of Tenochtitlan,
for Ramallah, Sobibor, Treblinka, Auschwitz, Rwanda?
The Inquisition, Manifest Destiny,
the Purges and the fucking BOMB!
To count all this my fault?
To have God's pathetic creations
blame me for their fallen state
and knowing I could never, never
torture those who blame me
in their redeemer's name.
Regrets?
For over a decade we've brought you uninterrupted ad-free advocacy work free
of charge. But while our publication is free to you, we are long on friends
and short on cash. We need you, our readers, to help us financially.
Please consider sending a donation now. Thank you.