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The Fall

It is December 21, 2012.
The End of Days has come
and Apocalypse is upon us.

God is descending upon the Earth,
to pass judgement on mankind.

But He lands awkwardly
and now lies
mortally wounded
on the ground.

All humanity,
the dead from years past,
the living
and the unborn from years to come
encircle Him.

The dead wonder
what the Afterworld would become
without God’s presence,
the living consider
how lives will change
with the Divine Being gone, 
the unborn plan for existence
in a world 
devoid of its Creator.   

Believers and non-believers
feel exactly the same way
for precisely the opposite reasons:
The faithful are horrified
that God is dying
but are gratified 
that their faith has not been in vain,
while atheists are horrified
that the Almighty does exist,
but are gratified He is dying.

And so the King of Kings
lies prostrate
at humanity’s feet,
fatally injured by the fall.

Yesterday it was God,
looking at us from up above,
judging and deciding our fates.
Now the perspective has changed
and we are looking down at Him,
pondering if we should extend
a helping hand,
if it is our duty
to try to save the life
of the fallen, dying God?

Or should we pretend
we don’t see Him,
the way He ignored mankind
in its hours of peril
and took no notice
when we pleaded to Him
in our most fervent,
most desperate prayers.
And then
a dead child
emerges out of the
runs up to God
with no trace of hesitation,
finishes Him off
with a shot
to the head.


This prose poem is disturbing to just about everyone, I suspect. Its critique on the inadequacies of religion is brilliant. The last paragraph took me a while to understand, but I think you are alluding to the cyclic nature of time and the possibility that there are cyclic universes with no beginning and no end.