I prefer being a human, for what a cursed god I'd be

Midnight clouds in the embers of an atheist's dreams.

Circling crows borrowing their lips to speak, they caw, 

"Cast your God aside, and join in the fray.

Dance the dance of dreams. 

Adorn yourself in the pleasure of sin's remittee 

Where servitude no longer binds salacity

and you are above the world- a God."

Disturbing notion. Repulsive horse of Trojan.

The gate is closed for He has risen. 

Bring me not into your apostasies. 

To me, God is not only my Judge

but a living, saving messiah. 

Preventor of sky fall. Guardian of the weak.

I have seen the mirror in 3 am existential crisis.

It is not the face of a deity but a haunted city.

Gods would know whence they come from

and where they'd return to.

When the chalice of sand breaks apart

at the touch of my blood.

When the vortex of desires spit out 

the very bones I grow up with.

When prayer is the only help line

that truly listens.

How could I be a God?

I am the dust of trust. The child of Dusk.

Flock of flaws in death's jaws.

It is He that makes me worthy.

That sets me free.

Back bent over to pick us piece by piece,

heart consumed in our restoration. 

"If I am a God, cursed I'd be.

In life's mercy, I pray for 

our Lord's sagacity and 

the concrete salvation 

in Jesus Christ. Amen.

May I be His human

forevermore."