Imitation of Christ

It rains fresh drops of paraffin.

It storms, it hails, it overflows, it pounds.

The shy strata shocks, the tired snow slides

of mountains, volcanoes spew brutal lava.

You hit the ground like a snapped elm.

This choice is left up to you: to lie on the ground

and never walk again.

To a horizon effervescing with sheer nonsense.

To a tomorrow dripping from desperate drudgery.

But you are able to pick yourself up.

Because at times like this you remember

the wisdom of the peaceful carpenter?

That human beings are not made to crawl

like sad snakes on a cheerful earth.