Friday, January 27, 2006

What am I to the Almighty
but a bit of dust with a shrill voice
asking, always asking,
wanting and needing,
disregarding the sacraments,
falling short on praise,
wandering during worship.
I am the least of His worries,
too bothersome for the omnipotent.
Irritating the divine
with every sinful breath.
He sends his beginners
to deal with me,
Capra’s angel, Satan’s novice.
Lets them learn on me.
So they meddle in my little life,
send me troubles and joys,
which I exaggerate or undervalue.
Frustrated angels want to slap me around
for my unending ingratitude.
Minor devils test the sharpness of their forks
before stepping up to illness and ruin.

I believe in the hand of God.
I think it stirs the pot
and I an errant drop
lie under His big foot.

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