To Pluck: The Psalms in other Words.

xxii.
My God, O my God, why did you leave me out to dry?
I’m hurting, because you seem to be doing nothing.
You are not working on my schedule.
As a designer God, you’re not giving much consumer satisfaction.
I call you on the hour, every hour, but your phone is off the hook.
I stay up all night, and yet I can’t get to sleep.

Yet, God, the holiest thing on this earth and the one I want most to know.
You make your home, you are comfortable in the midst of the honour we give u,
You have the best track record, a brand name that people will always trust.
You never let them down, so it follows that you will never let me down.

Yet, I, the moldiest thing on the face of the earth,
I am funny to everyone, and I don’t pride myself on comedy.
I am the joke of the culture, I am a single person sitcom,
Because they see you doing nothing and think that IÕm the biggest joke for talking about you. They don’t expect you to intervene and they laugh at my suffering.

Yet you were the doctor at my birth, gently easing me out into life___ê.
You were the first hands that touched me before I was given to my mother.
You had me in your arms from birth, intimately nurturing me.
You have been my designer from the beginning, and I trust you.
You better not disown me now, when I most need you.
Everyone has scampered. It’s just you and me against the world.

A school of piranha surround me, ready to tear shreds off me.
A gang of card carrying goons with guns are closing in on me.
Their breath is septic and their teeth will give me diseases.
They’re like gutless kids stealing an old ladies purse, unstoppable and evil.

I am like an emptying basin, I am losing all of myself,
My bones are broken and the unbroken ones look pretty munted.
My heart is about as soft as silicon, maybe even like butter, IÕm feeling awful.
My mouth is not coping very well with the whole ultra dry thing.
My tongue is going no where.

Rabid dogs are all around me, so are some bullies ready to take what they can.
They are nicking my clothes like common street urchins. I hate it.
If that wasn’t enough, they handcuff me and roll me down the hill and leave.
I look anorexic my skin barely covers my bones.
Even my bones look up at me and laugh.
My clothes have been split up among them as if they’re worth fighting over.
They’re gambling over my second hand thongs, the cheapskates, no respect.

Don’t just stand there God, when I know you are able to step in and whip them.
Give me strength like you gave Samson, to rip myself down from here to kill em.
Rescue me from this situation, save me from being eaten by dogs.
Save me from the garbage dump, the scrap heap, and wherever my sorry remains find their resting place.

Then I am going to sing my heart out, I’ll bust out my new anthem:
God is the best thing that has happened to me. I’ll wear a bigger smile than the guy who lost a tonne of weight. I’ll be more boastful than the lotto winner. I have won the big prize, and IÕm gonna tell.
All the church, yell out to the king.
All Australia, bust out some praises.
Every creation, every thing that has life, use those lungs he gave you to let him hear how much you love him.

I cant hear you. And as you go sick in the name of God, keep your tone a bit respectful.

God, you are my theme when I am talking. I just go on and on about you.
I keep my promises to you, by promising you things in the presence of people who will kick my butt if I lie to you.
The poor will receive more than they can eat. Those who seek you will join me.

The whole earth is going to come crawling back to you. Everybody.
All people will lie before you, prostrate and real, placing their innermost secrets at your feet.
God, you rule this planet.
Before him, the yuppie scum will melt with their opulence. Then they will realise the real God and bow before him.

AND MY SOUL WILL LIVE FOR HIM, ME AND MY KIDS.
I’ll see to it that people yet unborn will hear how good you are.
They’ll know how right you are and live like you. This you will empower.
Keep this up.

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