No, I'm not making fun of you--
My grandfather was named Dick.
You beautifully summate everything I hate
About Christianity. But know, that's not my religion.
My religion is not a mind virus.
It is compassion, and something much deeper.
Something the rational animal needs,
Or they go completely insane.

Your peace is false...
I see it... everyone cries peace.
There is no peace.

Full bloom in the morning,
Dead at the heat of eve.
Then, you grow again,
Beautiful cornflower blue
Petals, with delicate silk.
Like our lives, truly...
We grow for a moment
And die, and our progeny
Grow up quickly after us.

Across the country highway,
The buck ran with the doe;
His green antlers growing 
About a foot and a half
Since the spring.

I am a supporter of it.
People did not indiscriminately kill men women and children,
Nor were our cities a warzone,
When it existed.
50,000 people a year die from Gang Violence.
They hide that from you, though.
The fact that there were such a penalty for it
Would certainly make them think twice.
Not to mention, it'd be more merciful
Than simply locking them up.
It'd give the criminals a chance to repent,
And quickly go to the gallows,
Where they could at least save their eternal soul.

I see You fail at making the Rifle Team at school.
Looks like you shopped around, looking for a mark.
'Prince Harry--maybe--Joe Biden, Donald Trump.'
I see you see Trump will be nearby.
I then see, to prove to the world you got the stuff
I witnessed you kill a fireman.

Though, the question still remains,
Why didn't secret service cover the sniper perch?

It looks like a hooded assassin
Upon the lamppost.
Its head and neck like a man's
And body like a monk's.
Then it flies, and you see
It's speckled chest.

It helps you understand
Why ancients were fearful of them
And they will make their perch in Babylon.

The sages discussed, "We cannot touch it,"
When adding up infinities...
Thus, all engineering failed
And so with it all laws of physics
And so with it all laws of math and science
Beyond rudimentary geometry.
All because they couldn't accept
The Bible were true.

I look at other households,
And see things.
But not real things.
I see fancy art, made cheaply on cardboard
I see stone tables, plush pillows
Couches made from leather
TV and Computers;
Good appliances, wicker chairs---but artificial ones.
Most houses I go to, that's what I see.
Not antiques handed down from four generations
Or art and furniture made by family members.
I understand why our country is frustrated.
Everything is new, and disconnected from the past.

I sit upon my couch, and I ponder the blessings.
Cups I bought from the pickled peppers,
Perfect glasses for drinking.
Moana, which you see on my one book cover.
Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
A Father-clock. The palm from a Palm Sunday
Accents the portrait of Jesus.
A green poinsettia in Mid July.
A Hexagonal Fish Tank with my fish
On a hexagonal wooden stand.
I have the 1947 portrait of Jesus
In my room, with a globe, lantern
Sea Shells and in them Polished Semi-Precious stones.
My Dad's poems he wrote, framed well by me upon the wall
With that little newspaper clipping off to the side and perfect formatting
Of attribution font.
My bookshelves my Pappy made,
The cupboards and paper towel roll too.
My chess table, expertly carpentered by a family acquaintance from church.
My Nanny's plastic vase with plant.
My Mom's glass bluebird and my July Bear.
Paintings which relatives made, and photographs.
Pound Puppy and my Nanny's Afghan she knit
And my Mimi's afghans too.
My bird book by Reader's Digest that 
I used while bird watching with my Pop pop.
My Grandma's memory;
My Aunt Kim's judgment of aesthetics.
A cappuccino maker, every household appliance
Good cookware. Stainless Steel cutlery.

One thing I learned from psychiatry
They left one good piece of advice
Out of thousands of bad ones.
Gratitude is the elixir which remedies depression.