Predestined
by Buddah Moskowitz
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As the Earth
orbits in lazy silence
we are mostly helpless
but to do the same.
I am ever amazed by
the orchestration
of falling leaves,
ripples awakened
by the pebble,
roses proclaiming
ecstasy in the breeze
not just for their mystery,
but because they were
put here for me.
Dear Jesus,
your followers
want to put you in a box
of containable contradiction
to carry around
and show to their friends
and possibly make a sale or two.
I don't need to know.
I just want to
feed your sheep
with humility and gratitude,
even when all I have to give
are crummy little poems
like this.
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