Make for me a sinner,
A green sort of beginner,
Born naked and helpless,
Who knows nothing.
Me for me a test,
So that I may see the best,
As each body reacts and withers,
After each assault.
Make for me the glory,
Which is the over-told story,
Which looks down upon the disaster,
Flaunts and plays the master.
Make for me a system.
Call it true.
Call it justice.
Call it order.
Call it wisdom.
Call it beautiful.
Then make for me a sarcastic man,
Who will bow low to his “superiors”.
“Oh glorious lord,
I have nothing but thankfulness in contrast with my eternal evil.”
Because to give thanks,
Is to give one’s self relief from his own demands.
“I thank thee again,
For the amazing glory,
Which can be seen but not used.”
“I thank thee a third time, and again,
Because tomorrow I will be dead,
And the day after that, each of my children will be dead.
Thus today is ever-more special.”
“I thank thee a fourth time,
As the only thing more senseless then life,
Is death.”
“I thank thee a fifth time,
Because, oh glory, you are already dead.”
And then he laughs, and runs into the woods.
Within these green-brown mountains,
There is a refreshing glory seen again.
“A tree! A tree! It came up and lived long,
It felt no pain,
It felt no regret.”
And he said to the tree:
“If you lived longer then me,
And if you had less chances of killing anything then I,
And if you never caused or felt pain,
Then could you be the true god?
You’ve made my life possible.”
The tree replied:
“But I need you,
Thus I am not your god,
As I am under your subjection.”
And the man looked at himself for a moment…
“How could I have in subjection my superior?”
The tree replied again:
“Superiority and domination
Are the flesh and the bones.
One may be better, but each is needed.”
He replied: “Why?”
And the tree said:
“Because nothing is capable of controlling itself.”
And he wondered:
“So then,
If domination can be done by the inferiors,
If domination is control,
And if nothing can control itself,
Who will be left to uphold the superiors?”
The tree answered:
“The advocates of peace are already dead.
The superiors are rare, rotted bones under the earth.”
And anger said to them both:
“My friends,
You can compromise so deeply,
And sink so low,
To defeat your enemy,
As long as you remember to pull yourselves up again,
Once you have killed the monster that you did not wish to become.”
The tree replied to the anger:
“The monster did not wish to become the monster.”
Anger paused for a moment,
Then, with nothing left to say, it left.
The man said:
“I did not wish to become a man, either, but I had to do it.”
The tree replied:
“This is because you were dominated, thus you had to do it.”
He looked at the sky…
“Oh empty blue waters,
We cannot drink you,
And if we attempt to fly,
We fall broken.”
A bird flew by, and said: “no.”