implicit art

Dear God

Are you a Holy Man?
The Holy Man asked me
If you say that’s what I am
Then Holy I must be

Are you bent on doing good?
No I’m bent on getting straight
And what is it you’re addicted to?
Me? I’m hooked on fate.

The Holy Man took off his Mask
Underneath it was the Void
From whence echoed his ghostly voice
As he recounted my soul’s Task

You’ve been the Prodigal Father
You’ve been the Last Round at the bar
You’ve fucked it up so many times
Now listen to me carefully son,
Don’t fuck it all up again

You thought that you were different
For so very long
But after all those lonely years
It appears you’re much the same
As every one

We’re all a little bit Holy
We’re all a tad Evil too
We all get a bit salacious
When we’ve downed a shooter or two

The books you’ve read, forget them
They’re merely other people’s thoughts
Much better to have your own

And every woman that you pretended to love
Was your mother waiting to be forgiven
So why not bury her at last
After all,
She’s already dead

Forget all of that bullshit
The self pity you’ve grown accustomed to.
Time isn’t money
Money is money
And it’s better to have a lot of it
Than none.

At this the Holy Man took off
He left me at my midnight table pondering
His words that echoed in the abysmal dark

I’m not sure how much of what he said was true
How much of it was false
I downed my glass of trouble
Downed my glass of sorrow too

Drove home in my chariot called Redemption
Sat down and wrote this little poem to You.