Footprints

Footprints

A Poem by Kenneth The Poet
"

written in December '23

"

one set of footprints

are seen in the sand,

does the magical man

actually carry you

or are we seeing

figments, mirages,

visions that shimmer

away when the light

beams refract away…

 

if it’s the former,

then why do his

followers freak

the f**k out when

the goat displays

show up in the

state capitols?

 

is he not capable of

speaking for himself?

 

is he not able to

knock the display on

it’s own, without

outside interference?

 

this is the same god

that consumed the young bull

and the kitchen sink in

the first books of Kings?

 

you’re without excuse,

they’ll scream,

the fingerprints of

god’s being are seen

all around and everywhere…

 

and yet his creation

was compelled,

was emboldened,

was motivated

to knock down

a display

supposedly

dedicated

to his enemy…

 

his footprints trampled

all over his fingerprints…

 

because he’s so jealous

about ironic displays

to his enemy during the

season set aside for his son…

 

play stupid games,

win stupid prizes

as the old saw goes…

 

a jealous god they have,

a jealous god they defend,

a god so jealous that he’ll

trample out the vintage

where the grapes of wrath’s

are stored…

 

and his footprints will

taste neither like Welch’s

or Franzia…

 

but the capitol building

remains standing

in Des Moines

and no reports of

Satanists being

struck down have

been seen or heard…

 

and many of us are

standing back and laughing…

 

laughing that we still exist…

 

laughing that we are slaves

to baser and lesser urges…

 

laughing that we are on the

precipice of destruction…

 

laughing that we are weeks

away from starvation

if the power goes out…

 

laughing that we are

so close to being bankrupted

by one medical emergency…

 

laughing that we are

one car repair bill away from

living paycheck to paycheck…

 

and this ironic display

sets the zealots ablaze

more than anything else…

 

frankly, they deserve to

be trampled by the

footprints of unbelief…

 

it’s the only thing their

f*****g limited intellects

will ever understand…

 

either way,

the surface of earth

is the first level of hell

© 2025 Kenneth The Poet


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

21 Views
Added on December 16, 2025
Last Updated on December 16, 2025

Author

Kenneth The Poet
Kenneth The Poet

Bismarck, ND



About
Kenneth The Poet is an optimist wrapped in the candy shell of moroseness and cynicism. He lives between the two parallels marked 46 and 49, all while living in the state marked 39. He pretends that he.. more..