A god lounging out at his balcony,
Spectating those tiny particles moving below;
Men and women, children and animals;
All the activities in the stream of life.
Of course, they don’t know I am here;
So blind to my pretty realm
Above their petty realm.
All of them so myopic (shortsighted)!
Let me pretend to also ignore them.
Or, better yet,
I’ll spit out on them;
Or cause some interference –
Just for my saddistic godly pleasure
Probably then I’ll draw some attention and due recognition to myself.
But, I am no god.
I am just a crazy writer –
Who has a God,
From the type I am feeling myself to be,
Whilst hanging out here,
From the balcony,
At my hospital building,
On a merry Thursday night.
But what is the difference between a crazy writer and a crazy god?
Hehehe! Interesting you should ask, because I asked the same question myself, just at the point of my open confession to being a crazy writer.
Also, I guess I was feeling like both at the same time.
So, for the purpose of this writing, let’s say: “None!”
I would tend to agree.
I’m glad he probably doesn’t exist, but you exist- and I like that fact very much.
Hehehehe!!! If that kind of god existed, I bet he would have killed me before writing this kind of post in mockery of him (calling myself a KINDDA god!)