An "Our Father" for our Times ©2013

Dear God,

 you who do not exist but in the conscience of Man
and whose voice I only hear in the space between my ears, 
shallower be your name, 
thy Kingdom done, 
thy will be undone, 
at least as imagined here on Earth. 
I hope I can forage my daily bread 
and that the luck of the hunt is mine, 
that In hunting I'm not so foolish as to rely on you, 
the figment of my imagination, 
to replace the abundance of resources I selfishly deplete; 
and I hope no one notices how selfish I am 
so that maybe this time I can get away with it 
without anyone noticing 
so I can continue to claim 
that I am better than anyone else 
and can get people to follow my self-righteousness. 

Amen.

Captain - (after Sara Teasdale - "Pierrot") (c) 2013

Captain - (after Sara Teasdale - "Pierrot")

Captain plays in the garden,

The one we never had -

He digs a hole to find a bone;

The one that makes me sad.

Captain plays in the garden,

He thinks I'll come for him -

But he is long forgotten,

His memory would make me glim.

Captain plays in the garden,

And all the field hands know,

That Captain loves his ball -

Do I still love him so?