God says it Humans write it Humans comment on it They reach consensus on it God sends one to bind it Humans reject Him and it Humans try to bend it Humans fight for it God saves it. (c) nyonglema When the Pope is wrong, pray, pray a lot. Even Peter was wrong, was corrected: Infallibility doesn't mean perfection Nor does imperfection mean fallibility Papacy doesn't make a mortal God But our immortal God maintains the Papacy Like Moses holding the stone tablets.
After midnight, a tear dribbles down my jaw,
My heart is torn; the darkness is rushing in,
I have been waiting forlorn for the sun at my door,
To see Idyllia glaze when I gaze at my opened door.
But the night is still dreary
As I miss her charm
And I’m still weary
Like a workaholic farmer.
Reminescing of when it was still daylight,
More tears drooling from their seat tattoo my cheek;
No! We had never thought even of twilight,
And through each day, cloud-like glided with no foresight.
Like a barren prairie
I optimistically hope;
The dark is scary,
But my consolation is a dumb praying Pope.
The wall clock sings three and I acquaint despair,
For I realise the truth is yelling out.
I dry my tears, she won’t come, the truth stabs my Coeur.
But my wish for light is forever, past when I lose my hair.
Hope she’ll come back even as I occupy my hearse.
Farewell fair fairy,
My silken girl of Utopia,
My nights will always be dreary,
And great will my fear be,
But I shall be fine, Idyllia.