On the point of a pin
On the point of a pin the universe turns,
Caught in a balancing act
Between being/un-being, matter and void,
Elaborate fiction or fact.
And over it all, is the hand of a god
Whom we are told to admire.
Yet he strangles the infant asleep in its crib
Or burns us eternally in fire.
While under his eyes, as planes fall from the skies,
A toddler falls down a well,
The floods fall from clouds, and bombs through the roof,
On faithful and bold infidel.
And the universe, too, falls in on itself
Till it fits on the point of a pin.
When it reaches the point of maximum scruntch,
Bang! It starts all over again.
Then life crawls again from the dark cosmic mud,
And feeds on itself (as it should),
So he sits back and smiles and says to himself,
"Thus I see it and find it all good."
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