What does God do with that stream of curses
Rising each day to the Seraphim?
A tyrant bloated on meat and juices
Who falls asleep while we plead with him.
The sobs of martyrs and the tortured
Must seem to him a pretty symphony
Since despite the pain and blood it costs us
The Lord will crave more eternally
O! Jesus! Remember in the olive trees
When in your simplicity you prayed and blessed
Him who in Heaven laughed at the sound
Of nails being driven into your flesh?
Did your thoughts fall back into the past
When you were told of His eternal promise?
You rode through town upon your stinky ass
Your fingernails and beard all caked with hummus.
You swelled with courage, were filled with hope
And whipped those merchants with a vengeance.
You thought you were their master, you stupid dope
And now you must suffer for your ignorance!
When my time comes I’ll be quite satisfied
To leave a world lovely only when we sleep.
I’ll live by the sword and by the sword I’ll die.
Saint Peter denied his master reasonably.
–Translated by Bradley Grant Smith
[Original poem here.]