the globe i observe is crooked
the air i respire too polluted
i’m lost, filled with frustrations
thought of deity too disappoints
it was indeed, very, very beautiful
when i was schooled not in school
then i waited for you to be my creed
under your shepherding for my need
it was in the cathedral, the mother church
praising you they refused me my crutch
making you, living in me, terribly tired
infinite now they are, but soon to be wired
the arrogant rich, as fat bitch, sit to
bark
talk, good work, leaving millions to lurk
presently for shelter and square meal a day
wearing garments of patchwork and hay
henry victor
02.08.2002
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