How long it’s been
The beasts, the fields,
the fowl all of which
you named; they miss you so
flesh of your flesh,
bone of your bone.
How you must long for it now;
taste of my shining pear.
For every joy there is a price to be paid.
I watch your gears turn—
You wanted to feel more than you
could—I can all but taste your suffering.
With each passing year
your skin begins to wrinkle,
your mind begins to warp.
You’re overgrown. Paradise
slipped away. Do I keep you
awake at night? Am I the cause for the long
trips on the donkey’s back?
What do the stars say when you look for me?
I tell you now there is only silence
God is dead
Yours truly,