Creative

When God is not your contacts

When God pour luck with his scepter;

She was sleeping.

He did it again and again,

And same thing,

She was sleeping again and again.

“What a conundrum

Of not knowing the standard time

He’s using!” She felt dumb

For the missed opportunities—

She whined.

So she texted and emailed—

But He didn’t return any.

She grabbed her iPhone and asked, “Siri, call God.”

Siri answered, “I don’t see God in your contacts.

Who do you want to call?”

Writing True

Hate

I am too, too small

To carry such tons of weight

Of trash; rubbish mate

Neither you, nor them

Deserves such a burden to take

‘T weighs down a soul;

Consumes one’s spirit to the bone,

Hate is always wrong.

Love liberates all