And God said: you’re all foredoomed from bad to worse
for being born human in my universe.
This Holy Terror lurks in every human curse.
Or: I am your innermost, not set above –
the heart-of-hearts in all your human-hearted love.
The sacred charge implied is hard to disprove.
The Isness of the Innermost then opined:
Mister Holy Terror, you’re the fiend I find
in black holes of the god-bedevilled mind.
But God-the-Holy-Terror made reply:
You, Sir or Madam, are the reason why
your pie remains unreachably up in the sky.
And as to which counterclaim is true,
O mutant ape adjusting to a God’s-eye-view –
you are the It that now is up to you.