Our comforting myths fail us today,
Even the angels cry out, "Why?"
But that question echoes out to
A universe that does not hear
The god of our understanding
Has one job: to right the universe,
To restore balance. He does not
Answer petitions nor does he weep.
For us, or for the animals and plants,
The microbes and bacteria, we all die
In due time or unexpectedly, what is the
difference? The angels don't comprehend this.
Being mythological themselves, they have
A purpose and the god of their understanding
cares for them. Because they live in a story.
We are not a myth, we are the universe.
God do what you need to do to right us.
That's hardly a prayer, neither petition
Nor thanksgiving. But it's all we can say
At a time like this.
