Should God exist, in final days,

when Earth at last rolls to a stop

trembles, ancient and tattered, stays

and all the graves are lifted up,

then I will come before your God

and, eyes without a blink, will stand.

My gaze will burn through his facade,

and He will shake in fear of Man.

And if he dares to damn the souls

of those without the faith he needs

without regard for lives so full

of light, I call it jealousy.

Then when the blinded grip of Fate

claws at my back, I will not go,

but glare into the very face

of God, and I will whisper, “No.”

“For who are You, that You judge me?

The Slaughterer of untouched youth,

the source of serpent, apple, greed—

all evil oozes from your wounds!”

“And who am I, that I should lie

stricken and mute before You? No!

I name you tyrant, genocide!

Into the jaws of Hell you go!”

So on that fabled final day,

I will not kneel before your Lord,

but speak my mind and have my say

and leave under my own accord.

Then with a sigh, He will collapse,

return to dust, and float away.

For robbed at last of thunderclaps,

your god will have no words to say.