If God made you kindly, then kind you should be.
Delicate face dripping lightly with grace,
trim arms and legs frame an hourglass waist.
No bumps or wrinkles, skin smoother than glass,
slightly inhuman, chiseled art of the past.
Formed with such kindness, so repayment should be.
Or wanting for nothing, no suffering or pain.
Veins rush with luck; what you want falls like rain.
Fortune and glory and love and respect,
ooze from your soul, take from life all regret.
Creation most generous, the kindest God can be.
Or thinking and wondering, curious and smart,
creative and loving, the world at your heart.
Easy to grasp and fast to learn,
gazed at in awe, have what all others yearn.
Baptized in brightness, but the gift… can you see?
Or lazing about, every whim, every want
can be done without doubt, clothed in envy everyone.
Broke from the shackles, life is green grass and peace.
Truly no hassle, like doves you fly free.
No worries, no cares, touched by God like a king.
Or simply blessed to have opened your eyes,
inhale, exhale, see the sun rise.
Alive in the now, not devoured by rot,
on Earth as a human, not beast, plant, or rock.
A soul in existence, kindness most holy.
Yet all we offer in return for being made
are gripes and greed, death and war, abuse and fear and rage.
Humanity’s no brotherhood, just shameless self-obsession;
stabbed our Father and ourselves, a sorrowless transgression.
Yes, God takes time to make us kindly, but kind we’ll never be.