Monday, November 26, 2007
O! God, I am praying for death.
Not for it to come swiftly or slowly,
painlessly or painfully,
but that the promise of its appearance shall never abate. . .
that the hour of its reckoning is upon some distant future fix'd. . .
and I shall no longer fear it when we two meet.
I pray for this, O God, because it is bound to happen anyway.
And by praying and beseeching for that which is destined,
I make a fact into a miracle.
"Blessed Lord, you have granted me death as I have ask'd!"
I offer in supplication before the last beat n' breath.
(If I have not You to believe in, Lord, there is only Death)
O! God, how has this happened?
I am confused, O Lord.
I was so good at being alone until I became alone.
Now even the voices in my head are silent. . .
Now nothing is funny here
where the rain and the snow no longer make me feel romantic.
O! Lord, I once knew the difference
between a businessman and an artist.
And so did the world.
Now it's all muddled.
Your world isn't as clear as it used to be.
I'm trying to be grateful, O Lord, but it's hard
in this world where gratitude has been replaced by grievance.
O! God, I often thought as a child
how wonderful it would be to go insane.
What a colorful respite it would be from the
demystifying strains of dullness and suburban simplicity
emanating from the lips of the vacuous and obtuse,
and radiating unchalleng'd from the cathode ray tube.
But that way is the truth.
That mediocre way of sanity always triumphs.
I am on the losing end of the losers.
By Your gospel, that would make me a winner.
O! Lord, can you tell me
is this a crossroads or a dead end?
Because I don't feel much like moving.
Maybe I would if I could see once again. (or You could see for me,
looking ahead down that road You have designed)
O! Lord, how about a hint?
I promise not to cynically present Your answer
as my own clairvoyancy, but as Your gift in my hour of need.
A quick fix, a quick boost,
propelling me back into the world of the living. (or the barely living)
How much steam heat can be generated on principles alone?
And do I even have any left to stoke the fire?
O! God, teach me how to play the game
and to play it well.
And teach it to me soon
so that I may join their ranks
while I still have a pulse.
Posted by Will Franken at 6:05 PM