When God fell downstairs and tried
to get up, he sought my hand.
He knew I was there. He’d heard
me cussing and cursing creation. But
I’d stopped, breathless with undirected
anger, while He with eyes that refused
to focus, and ears still ringing from the Fall –
only got to grips with the air molecules
around us. His vertebrae crushed, His
bones broken, a cripple for eternity, He said:
”Son, don’t listen to the lie, the meek
and mild will never conquer.
It isn’t Lucifer that lost, it’s I.”