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Some times are no times for good times
Good times are sometimes unknown times
Unknown times are lost times we wasted
Wasted times which cannot be pasted

For life’s not this screen you are viewing
Where mistakes are deleted before doing
The copying and pasting and stewing
Over each vital word and its meaning

But you and I know we are joining
In the thoughts and emotions and feeling
Which makes us more than our being
And keeps us abreast of our living.

Pure hate, lost love, and cold loathing
A mix of each part of our clothing
Which envelops our souls and our essence
That we have to hide in the presence

Of those who we love and do not
And those who we used and forgot
When we move to a stage in our progress
All hoping we’ll receive our Lord’s caress

Yet knowing that He is all seeing
And aware that he knows every being
So why weren’t we made so sublime
As His Universe was built with Time?

Is he playing with us as we play?
With our computers which govern our day
And any mistake that he makes
Is deleted before the page breaks?

I hope that I’m not a small part
Of a message He’s sending to start
A much better version of us
Through His celestial USB Bus.

How we scoff, at the men who cry shame
At our leaders who give lies a name
Which they use to deceive all they can
Of the vast congregation of man

Newspapers, TV and the press
Heighten our sense of distress
By playing on fears which they groom
To ply their old portents of doom

I refute the message from high
When political animals try
To tell us how to behave
From our birth to eventual grave

I was put on this Earth by my God
And I’ll be covered in time by the sod
Which He created for all of mankind
To respect with all that we find

Of creatures more noble than we
Which like us may have crawled from the sea
And although seven days may seem short
To masses who think only of sport

I feel there are some of us who
Can find better lives in this zoo
Where the normal behaviour and slog
Is for profit, and dog eating dog

I’m no better than any we know
I’m not setting myself up to show
That I’m any more of a saint
Than the thousands whose daily complaint

Is to follow the media line
About famine and wars and of crime
I only demand that the hoard
Are not casually spurned and ignored

By a God who decided to play
With some beings He made out of clay
This rhetorical question I ask
Half in jest from behind my screen’s mask

I cannot believe Him so cruel
As to use human beings for fuel
In ovens where many where lost
From our sight in the last Holocaust

What omnipotent being is he
Allowing murder of such a degree
Unless to take souls to Himself
And shower them with love of such wealth

That they bask in His glory above
Needing only to know of His love
And Heaven would be here on Earth
If man could behave with the worth

Which was given but squandered by many
In pursuit of the very last penny
Look up, look up, look up
We’re trying to fill the wrong cup

I’m alive and I’ve children to follow
My life here on Earth is not shallow
I can’t say I’m living in clover
But I do know my cup runneth over.

Dear Byron,

You write with incredible insight, depth, and clarity; lasering in on the truly germane issues, making it appear as though it is done with ease, and leaving behind a deeply-ingrained sense of gratitude. What a pleasure to read and to think about....worthy of study. This one will be framed and placed on my wall. Thank you.

~Elizabeth

Excellent poem
Georges

I must say I really enjoyed reading that as well.