with a little help from my dear friends @buckhead1111 and @justbeneath-thesurface2 . You rock!
Why do you waste your time / thinking of worthless things
as if they counted / as if they meant something / as if you had all the time in the world
don’t you know you gotta go some day / tomorrow maybe / sooner or later
it’s gonna happen and
it might be earlier
than you
think...
It was a wonderful Sunday morning in March
and looking out of the window,
I swear, I saw God.
In fact, I hadn't seen him in a long time,
but there he was,
ready to look after his people.
Reckon, he must have heard the sad news
and what he saw sure displeased him.
The streets deserted.
The cafes closed.
The playground silent.
The only thing moving
some shadowy figures behind the curtains.
Oh yes, and me of course.
I raised my hand to greet him.
He greeted back, gave me a weary smile,
and went on to the end of the road to the church.
Sad to say. It was locked.
So, as he sat on the stairs, a man in black came around the corner.
In his hand a book.
The good book. Large, black, and heavy.
(I opened the window, to hear what he said)
What do you want here? Go home!
I am home, said God. Sorta. But I can't find the key.
You must be joking, said the man.
Anyway, can't waste my time with guys like you.
Time for the service, you know.
Hey, that's nice! said God.
Let's open the door.
Some fresh air might help.
Let's light the candles.
The more the merrier.
Some music would be nice.
Yes, let's get it started. Me and you!
And then - show the people in.
Young man, who are you to speak to me like that?
Are we chums or brothers? Can't remember.
So, show some respect!
Besides, ain't no use to open the door.
Not anymore.
Nobody will come.
Not in times like this.
In fact, people haven't come for a long time.
Thinking themselves so important by taking HIS place.
Learning to dance to their own tune.
Each and everybody his own calf.
Selfish. Immoral. That's what they are.
No respect! None at all.
Sometimes, I think God wants to test us.
Nothing comes from nothing.
So it's a test, inquired God.
That's really what you think?
Just like in the eighties?
Good Sir, you sound like one those phony preacher men on tv.
I still have their voices in my ears.
Remember their gestures.
How they bowed and prayed for donations and you're talking about calves?
The other guy gave him an grim look.
Young man, he said. What do you know about old times?
Well, if it is not God's work maybe it's the devil.
What do you think?
Anyway.
I have to go and you better move on. Remember, the stairs, too, belong to the church.
And off he went.
God watched him go.
Gave me another look as if to ask: What was that?
And disappeared in the thick Sunday morning air.
Yes, that's what happened. End of story?
Not quite.
The other day, I saw him across the street
in the park where there is still a bench.
The others removed long ago.
On that bench sat an old man. His clothes in rags.
His home in three plastic bags.
Shivering in the cold.
God stopped, took his coat
and handed it to the old one
and said:
Here, brother ...
