Nothing fails like a good prayer

(Many people tell me I must believe in God to be this angry at him, I'm angry at him for not existing)

Needs work, suggestions?

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Heavenly father discards us like the chaff in the corn
From the dreary day in which we are born.

A flick of the world
And ourperception of itcollapses.
The prayers and salutations we cry outfall like shot birds,
Lifeless from the fragile red sky.
Limp.
Are we not doomed to die?
I dare to question the why.

If we continue to worship the absurd,
Absurdities will continue to happen.
The fires of mankind will not be put out,
By the breath of the breathless invisible.
The pain of mankind shall not be eased,
By the uncaring doctor metaphysical.
The wound shall continue to bleed,
Without a human bandage visible.
Hands that help are better then lips that move.

That recite nonsense magic.
Or incantations to a rabbit in a hat.
Go ask the air to preserve the falling,
If you must,
Or the lofty waves to pull back the bloated and drained,
Or beseech the void to pluck the dead from the sea?
Scream to the empty space, pray for eternity.
And watch the ones you love fall like burning matchsticks
In a hurricane. The hurricane existence.
A joke, your hopeless persistence.
Butterflies in theory.
Like butterflies we are in the whirlwind.

A lonely withered watchman.
A figure that looks from western utopian shore.
What kind of father is he?
That watches as his children drown from the shore line.
And as the flail in the waves he looks down without a sign.
He calls out he loves them, but the words are faint.
"They’ll get to grace in the end, they’ll learn to swim in the end."
They have free will you see,
In the sea that buffets them around, the ones who drown, drown.
The who swim, swim.
The fittest will survive.
The loving do not thrive.
As a baby disappears beneath the surface.
Face still like a picture, a pale picture.

He has the power to do everything.
Yet does nothing.
Obscurer deceiver and the object of the believer.

Why not reach out and grab your chosen people as they fall from those twin towers?
Pluck them from the sightless airs at that screaming pace with your almighty powers.
Like specks of dust with your divine grace.
Strip them from the suffering space.
Oh priest.
Oh clown.
Oh unreal jester, Joke.

Stand by a salty grave
Everywhere at once but you cannot save.
A single innocent life.
Or save the child from a life of strife.

Commanding voice and mighty hands
Are unmoved in all your large and wide lands.
Like titanic rocks of ageless origin,
You are inanimate upon the mountain side,
Threatening to roll down and crush us all in a mudslide.
I feel no rage at the closing dirt of that hillside grave
Or rising tide that clamped them back like a hungry dog does to food.
No I feel no rage, because they are the elements.
They have no rage within them.
They do not think.
They just grab us living ones with nointent, as we silently sink.
Into the murky drink.

I’d rather believe in the unconscious elements.
Then a God who overlooks this evil with a gin and a smile.
Look out to skywards and to numbness in those blank blue eyes.
Of God.
The paint pallet he paints with is one of suffering.
Those steel eyes of God.
Those bullet eyes of God.
Salvation manifested in a mushroom cloud.
Or on the atomic winds.
Where rides the messengers of his love.
Famine, war, pestilence and Death.
Charred dead doves.
Or on a dead man’s shroud rests his loving breath?

No, just an unemotional look on by nature.
Not evil, not good.
Just there.
Not just, not fair.
The only evil is man.
Just there, Just there.
Things happen.
There needs be no justification.
Or theology ripe with sophistication.
Self justified insanity.

For the ego of man or the desperation of purpose.
Seek demand and answer. You will hear no answer.
Just a primal roar.
The unconscious natural law.

Through the marble eyes of fallen statues.
Through the decayed eyes of fallen friends,
You can see the dead realm.
Whose current lifts us up and places everything.
And sucks us back to the womb and tomb.
A human being must help the other human being
The seeing must help the seeing.

The air will not save us.
The blankness will not save us,
The empty spire of a church will not save us:
But those who pray within it might.
Death by air and Death by sea,
Death of you and death of me.

Do not send your prayers off into the imaginary pulpits on the horizon,
Your words disintegrate into motionless silence.
To the peel of ambrosial church bells.
Wordless mockeries to the victims.
I tell you, In God’s dream kingdom.
There are timelessmorgues stuffed with unfulfilled prayers.
Prayers of those who are dead and dieing unfulfilled stacked row, on row on row.
Like a cemetery rife with unmarked graves.
Over skeletons and cadavers, a roadway will twist
Over a century our changes shift.
Is that purpose at last?

A map of chaos.
Designed by a dead designer’s pathos?
Chart the way for me? Oh please, oh please.
The way invisible.

I’ve made my own way.
One that I can see.
It shall set us free.
It shall set me free.

Nothing fails like a good prayer.

Nothing succeeds like action.
Human action and in turn the physical reaction.