At night,
aching and alone

I learned how to worship
the glittering fire of my mind

And in return,
it wrote this
poem for me

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
You made the stallion,
you made the filly,
and now they sleep
in the dark earth, stilly.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
You forced them to run
all their days uphilly.
They ran till they dropped—
life’s a pickle, dilly.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?

Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?
They say I should worship you!
Oh, really!
They say I should pray
so you’ll not act illy.
Isn’t it silly, ***** Nilly?

Published by The New Formalist, Poet’s Corner, The Road Not Taken, Charlie Hedbo Poetry

We now know there never was a perfect Garden of Eden, because trillions of animals suffered and died before human beings existed. Thus Adam and Eve cannot be responsible for suffering and death. That leaves the Creator, if such a being exists. If not, perhaps it was just the bad luck of the draw.

Keywords/Tags: Creator, Creationism, God, Demiurge, Yahweh, Jehovah, worship, religion, pray, prayer, evil, suffering, death, Jesus, Christ, Christian, Christianity, garden, Eden, Adam, Eve, animals, creatures, stallion, filly, pretty pickle, silly, nonsense

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuuZMg6NVeA

If you wish to worship something
look deep into your soul
find the flowers that grow there
and revel in their beauty.
When they perish
cover their seeds in your soil
and water them with your tears.
Next season they will be more beautiful than ever.

Primal worship
Eyes dilate
Senses still
Time slows
Anticipation builds
(b---r---e---a---t---h---e)
Whispered prayers on the neck's nape
A pilgrim's trail
.d
...o
.....w
.......n
........t
.......o
.....t
....h
...­...e
Well of your soul
And hungrily consumed
Communion from your chalice
A spontaneous supplication at your sacred sacellum

The thing about
a sunflower and I

Is the sunflower would
wither if the sun stopped
kissing her every morning

And just like the sunflower
needs the sun to flourish,

I need you near me
for I bloom by your kisses

And just like the sunflower
worships the morning sun,

I worship your
cold almond eyes

Hush.
I used to think you were Godly.
I used to think you were velvet.
I used to think you were perfect.
Shh.
You’re nothing now.
Silence.
You’re pathetic now.
You’re only a feeble boy playing God.
You’re only a quaint thing pretending to be holy.

I used to worship you.
I used to pray to you.

But now you pray to me.
“Oh poetess God.”
Now you worship me.
“Oh sweet Holy One.”
And don’t you dare forget it.