Jesus he was lucky for he had a mum and dad,

God was not so lucky; for him the story’s sad.

For fifty thousand trillion years floating out in space,

She never had a mum or dad, a tribe or even race.

He had no thought of consciousness or trees in which to climb,

She had no thought of boredom as he had no concept, Time.

For another hundred thousand billion trillion years he grew as babies do,

Then in a single blink of conscious light gave birth to me and you.

So in that tiny moment that synaptic spark of light,

Shone within the darkness and made the day and night.

And in the tiny moment he made the birds and flowers,

She made so many things the list alone would last many many hours.

To tend and mend and nurture each and every part,

This mighty cosmic being opened up its heart.

In less than half a heart beat the universe unfurled,

Giving light to milky ways and places like this world.

He filled them all with beauty and helped them interact,

She gave the flowers bumblebees but with us he made a pact.

“If you look after all of this for you there is free will –

Freedom to roam around creation in which there is no bill.”

For freedom means free to choose with every living breath,

To walk right down the path of life or drive to the planes of death.

Freedom needs no capital; money’s not where it does dwell,

But cash supplies the highways on which we drive to Hell.

Money has bought many things: the gun, the bomb, the sword,

Slaves and whores and junkies sprawled across the board.

Greedy little creatures – it’s our money god we crave,

Not caring how much of consciousness we give an early grave.

It’s now time to turn away, pay the ferry man no more,

Stop breaking the creation, for love’s the only law.

Love’s not time but energy with harmonic vibrant pitch,

It spins together atoms and with molecules does stitch.

It weaves and then embroiders with life a single thread,

Adorning in this tapestry the thoughts inside god’s head.

Then we little humans just love to make a mess,

We cause a cosmic headache and universal piles of stress.

We never stop our yammer of what’s happening in opera’s soap,

Or judging and condemning who’s to dance upon the rope.

When we break so many rules – well, the rules of greedy man,

Who possesses what and owns, who buys the laws as money can.

Who sells us all the loans, and who sells us mortgage debt,

Who fills our heads with knowledge, whilst Life we do forget.

Now the greater consciousness has nothing left to give,

So will we keep on taking until nothing more can live?

Will we keep on breaking sprinkling poison all around?

Digging up the path of life for a terminal runway ground?

Or can we start to give it back? Can we learn to share?

Can we open up our little hearts, and learn a skill called care?