Paupers may ask the Lord for wealth
(The Gospel might inflate their hopes)
Protection, blessings, mental health
Beyond what mullahs, rabbis, popes
Offer as guidance through the strife
Within the filthy maze of life.
Others hope He’ll stack their deck:
Bring in those thousand years of peace
One king short of Melchizedek
When nations merge and borders cease
In a prolonged global swoon, like Babel
Partying with Nimrod’s rabble.
Poets ask for Inspiration
Or just a spike in reader-stats;
Gold paid out in revelation
And sudden-death for bureaucrats—
Even the fleeting hope that wit
Might pay for some or all of it.
To sharpen dull poetic gifts
A mustard-seed might be enough,
Until the veil of Maya lifts
exposing the Satanic stuff.
I’d be content with what He brings:
The Restoration of All Things.