My God, my Lord, my Puppeteer,
Our ten strings begin to fray.
I’ve crossed and crumbled many times, I fear,
Your voice sounding further and farther away
You leave me live on your foggy land,
but have forgotten that I exist.
Once I stopped grasping for your transparent hand,
Christ! I flew into an abyss:
If sin is death then how do martyrs fall?
By sharing the air with ***** lungs?
Peace and war, Apollonian brawl,
Virtues preach through lustful tongues.
An overheard conversation between Yin and Yang,
In my own mind, God’s voice gently sang.