Alas,
here you stand
on my street corner
shouting.
A sainted patron
of a God
that time seems
to be forgetting.
Hoping desperately
for a flood
because
death would be
easier
than being
left behind
forgotten
and dusty
sitting in the back
corner of a nursing
home whispering
to yourself
"He shall strike the earth
and He shall slay the wicked"
hoping you aren't among
the rest of us sinners.