God - Yes, you know who I'm talking about. That omnipresent or never present being (depending on your point of view or level of desperation), has a lot of stuff on her plate. She's blamed or begged, sworn upon, or sworn at, prayed to, damned, and so on. As a nurse, I heard every convoluted opinion or belief imaginable, in some connection to God. In this poem we visit with some hapless soul, who has abused their body for decades, who now is pleading with God, to rescue them. Good luck, pal; God often looks the other way, when she has been ignored for so long.

Gray Shapes

Ominous gray shapes formed
On the horizon of his health,
Subtle elements of disharmony
Approached with painless stealth.

Clues of imminent disaster
Unseen by the untrained eye,
Told a tale of evil habits
But a muted voice can’t cry.

Too late for safe intervention
And desperately grasping at straws,
The dying man begs God for mercy
After violating all of his laws.

So God gives the second opinion
She laughs, saying, “You must be dreamin’”
I never buy back those old souls
That were long ago sold to the demon!

Fibril_late; 2/94