Letter To God

dear god how little i feel about myself despite your claim that i am the top of your creation a little virus would kill me off i feel mysellf a plaything your plaything a toy, a puppet and the world your stage with my role written where i should play out my part talk about freewill? is there one? one plus one equals two an empty stomach does not have free will to choose? a woman with near dead child at her hands knows free will is spoken only by the gods in their written scripts to enliven their puppets to act out i know too after all the theatrical parts like a buffalo led by the noose i will be torn out of existence as you plan your next play like the sun that comes after heavy rain the land cleaned of its dirt, where fresh breeze blows i am but then would be lost in existence consciouness torn to shreds to get your next theatre going not a trace of mine would be left on this stage where i had acted out my part with flesh, blood and soul free will no freewill and all god, you the puppeteers