Ruthie Ginsburg is gone, and that's sad.
Trump will find a replacement to add.
Let us look on and cheer
As appointment draws near;
The progressives now drive themselves mad.

From the ACLU to the Court,
she promoted the right to abort.
You may claim she was God's
but she seemed, by all odds
more a midwife of murderous tort.

Say goodbye. All her honor is spent.
A new judge now begins their ascent.
Ruthie's star has gone dead.
A black hole . . . or a red?
(Only Jesus can say where she went.)

I don’t know you and you don’t know me,
but still you know me in the way,
none who know me but still don’t know me.

So I appeal to the ones who don’t know me but still know me that keep me in your heart and not in your thoughts because the thoughts often do the judgements, and the day
you judge me, I’ve to push you with them
who know me but still don’t know me.

To speak of the silent voice
would be to be laid bare
as the world glares on
gavel in hand ready to slam downwards
passing sentence to another

Imagine thyself
encapsulated in the looking eye
gavel dissolves with a heart melt
pondering their weary woes of ticking time past

Tear trickles your consciousness
meandering through vascular alleyways
no longer bound by piercing sight
but flourishing in a garden of unconditional compassion

What is that playing in your head,
that clip suffering that has captured your reality,
and plays them like a broken track record.
If its' not that then it's your fantasy,
that's trying to break free and become reality.

But fear of judgment from the world,
retracts us back to this cruel shell of a mindset
that has been made known by our ancestors.
All those hopes, wild imaginations, and our fantasy,
that is being rejected by those same ancestors,
who vowed to guide us,
but now from their hands do they destroy us.

We who are present history should learn to break free,
to carve and crave our hopes, dreams, and fantasy,
that has been bottled and then turn it to passion.

go on label me
put a name against mine
state what you say I did
box me up
lock me down
clamp the compartment lid

go on label me
invent a sin or syndrome
measure me for size
say I am this or that
account for nature and my skin
or the colour of my eyes

go on label me
punch the card
ink barcode my arm
number me a beast
stencil my blood type
where it does least harm

go on label me
believe I've gone away
believe in your own system
and write it safely down
but someone else has labelled you
and someone’s labelled them

Remarks are not literature
Sometimes go out of the structure
Though good one's are to capture
Rest are like old furniture.

Some version are miniature
Albeit enlighten a picture
They understand the scripture
And thought of the culture.

Some remarks you feel as tincture
Floating like bubble that won't  puncture
Life is all about adventure
Always be high with your zeal for signature.

The only difference between God and Frankenstein
is the success of what they deemed their magnum opus,
and when it comes down to the end of days,
the Great Judge must turn his gavel inward,
lest he condemn his doppelgänger to an opposite fate.

It is a universal human experience to fail,
even more so to fail at the apex of triumph.
When God made the world, did he imagine
that it would go to waste?
Would it ever have crossed his mind that love is conditional,
at least for the flawed creatures he expected perfection from?

Does this, then, make God human?
Or just a Heavenly Lady of Shalott,
weaving a tapestry of emulation, of the very same
thing he cannot be.
It is considered blasphemous
to entertain the notion that God is inferior,
but is this born of punishment,
or of shame, of trying to save face?

It is stated so many times that the student will surpass the master,
and isn’t that what is happening here?
Perhaps God created trees, but humanity cut them down.
Destruction is just as artful as creation,
if not more so - there’s more finality in it.
It’s possible that God is too scared to ever end a story.

But we - our nation of Frankensteins -
will end everything.
Given the right tools, we’ll end the universe,
far beyond the reaches of this insignificant planet.
We’ll lay waste to God’s pride
and replace it with our own hubris.

We go down on our own sinking ship with smiles;
even if we can escape, we won’t.
We are cruel that way.
We will never accept fatherhood or responsibility,
but spite and death work hand in hand
at the fall of any empire -
what can be done to stop us?
We are fluent in the only language God speaks.