I’m the Devil’s Daughter.
Oh, the counterfeit coins of my common currency!
The favors only done for reciprocal courtesy:
When I said, “Please,” you just wanted to hear my, “Thanks,” ;
collect that karma like a trust-fund baby’s bank.
It was just in your best interest:
Embezzling the dividends,
evading tolls and taxes.
Your ulterior motives
are seemingly victimless.
If nobody knows, it’s not a crime.
A tree falls, the Deaf don’t mind.
Each eclipse eludes the Blind
like the Righteous’ ceaseless Light.
But the Wicked’s concrete cross
and crown of leaden moss
sink them, silent, in the quickest sand of Time.
Oh, pretensed, pretend, perfectly devised flaws!
The rehearsed “free verse” feigning for applause:
When you cracked that joke you just wanted to hear me laugh;
composed charity helps avoid “The Golden Path.”
It was just a good investment,
devoid of good intention.
When you tamper with the evidence,
a Samaritan’s selfishness
is only quiet conscience.
If nobody knows, it’s not a crime.
A tree falls, the Deaf don’t mind.
Each eclipse eludes the Blind
like the Righteous’ ceaseless Light.
But the Wicked’s concrete cross
and crown of leaden moss
sink them, screaming:
“If God is everywhere, why can’t I find him!?”
“If God is everywhere, why can’t I find him!?”
“If God is everywhere, why can’t I find him!?”
“If God is everywhere, why can’t I find him!?”
