Born without food a diaper or a bed of straw,
I wanted to know who did this to me, but
couldn’t display pain to the makers. I swore
someday I’d make them pay for what they did to me.
Until then, I paid the price like everyone else.
All through the years, I wracked my brain
while I sweated and worked the only way
I knew how. No skills were bestowed upon
me by the architects. I couldn’t sing, color,
or draw, but to think, I could think, and
that ability became a great gift, and I thought
how to make the powers who gave me a
life of worry and work to pay for what they
did. The world they made is dog eat dog,
but if it became nirvana for everyone who
lived, those up above would lose everyone
of the prayers sent to them. Petitions to make life
better for the oppressed, the sick, the weak, the poor.
Without the mental energy created by those begging
for help from the Deities, they’d lose clout when people
realized prayers sent up above were turned into
energy that the Gods ate to stay alive. As devotions died,
so did the weaker Gods, and with so few prayers
the surviving Gods turned into dogs and had to act
like humans and heaven became a dog eat dog place,
just like Earth. Without a paradise to offer, the immortals
lost it all and became mere men who had to work as I
did. I became boss, and every surviving Idol worked for me.
I was as kind to them as they were to me and didn’t mind if
they didn’t eat or keep warm when I sent them out
in the cold to shovel snow even though they were old.
At sixty five I became like a God,
and those that once were divine
tried to fight back with threats
and curses, but they didn’t
have a prayer because they
were just too damn drained
from eating requests for years
and never responding.