Race To The Bottom Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Race to the Bottom

God, this toy that man made
As some say; was great.
I’m sorry he was killed, he is dead.

That same God, we were told,
Was in heart, mind and veins
Like our nerves and conscious.

He would ask:
“You love me? ”, “Pretend? ”

Then made men take action:
“To prove walk four ways; directions.”
Count forty, families, and houses.
If any of tummies empty, hungry
Don’t come back for pray; it’s play
Don’t praise with a game, pretence
Your action is nothing but purchase
Comfort and better life; after death.”

God is gone and no one is obliged
No one cares, neither side…
Each of us, in a way, lives in hell…