Gerald faltered at the threshold
and sneered, though at no one—
the door was closing, it was cold
outside—the wind spoke with such
strange and hostile inflections he
took up his own lament, ululating
until his loneliness was overstated.
“Now,” he said, “I will abase myself!”
and he threw what coins he had at the
wind, which deposited them promptly
in the nearest storm drain. “That’s it all!”
he screamed, “That’s all I had!
And now I am abased! I am my
father’s son, and I need nothing!
Curse the sinner that said God is dead!
I am God, and I am not dead!”
Thanks for checking out my poem.
Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!