Staring at my blog canvas, to paint my rant,
I see a moon-walking speck, born as an ant.
Dancing on my display, distracting my art
The Rebel fed over me, like a strawberry tart.
Moving my arm, to crush the toxic sinner
A weird thought struck, and left me to wonder
Am I the rebellious ant, gasping its final breath?
Is the arm, the hand of god that signs my death?
If the thought is true, ain't my killer an equal sinner?
But only English, treats us in similar manner.
By capitalizing both the human "I" and the godly "He"
It equates the individual man, with the divine Almighty.
"Food for worms" after I become numb,
But at least I guarantee you an original meal.
Hey God the mortal might succumb,
But the free-thinker won't kneel.
And don't expect the rebellious ant, to go down without a fight,
It won't die without giving the 'hand of god', a well deserved bite.