So this one time I got punched
in my right jaw
by a man high on PCP
for no reason other than I
was walking through a parking lot
he forgot to inform me was
his devil's playground
angel dust coursing through his veins
he thought himself god of the pavement
the drugstore, his castle
the cars, his chariots
"Mind me!" he slurs through drooled grunts
as fist connects with metal and glass
then flesh, finding me at fault for
entering his domain without his permission
my trespass not quickly forgiven
no offer of daily bread
his will to be done in his personal
asphalt kingdom of heaven
his prayer is slightly different than mine.
as the police placed him in steel
did he ever realize
while coming down
that even devils come
as angels of light
Isn't it puzzling the things that cross our paths? The things that we deal with on whim, but to know that God is always here with us. If you were to write a letter to God, what would it say? Would it be our scraping the barrel to cover the bases? Would it be a series of complaints disguised as praises? Or simply the silence that follows being in the presence of a God that is beyond compare? Just something for the day.
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