Clouds racing for the far horizon. Running from the evening light, wind comes in short, hard blows, causing tree limbs to whip, irregularly. The Sun peeks through cloud masses and rain, like sheeted glass, splatters on the window.
In the name of the Father
and of the Son,
Religion may not be for everyone.
Do you believe in a higher being?
If you do, you must admit
at this moment, would he omit,
the lying racist from this place,
that most call the Human Race?