Richard W. Reith


Blessed be he who is omniscient,
Who wallows in his discontent,
Who must be the god of his little world
And sees the tree of life as burl.

Blessed be he who can see simple words
And then create a reality absurd
And yet believe with all he is
That understanding alone is his

Blessed be he who revels in sorrow
And declares the worst for every morrow,
Who wallows in all betrayal and pain
So to write about again and again.

Blessed is he, knowing that lovemaking must
Be reduced to a simple animal lust,
Who knows that religion is an evil sham –
Superstitious flotsam, silly jetsam

Applaud now for the dour one
Whose hope is gone, happiness done,
Who attacks anyone that dares suggest
That tomorrows can truly be the best.