A Conversation Between Brothers

Brother 1: I didn't start pounding my fist on the table, The apostle doesn't care for threats. I simply didn't notice him, And yet he kept on asking questions. Less and less I hear the voices of happy people, Maybe happiness has left the halls, Or maybe worse — maybe the demons took up pitchforks And the never-surrendering Gods surrendered. My winged companion was caught flat-footed — Apostles and angels aren't allowed on foot. Buddy, make them some wheels by Monday. If you can't do it yourself, then call me… Brother 2: Maybe the demons are the people themselves? They got sick of the flying Gods… Up there they surely have no time for fates, All they want is to expand their halls. And we keep giving them wheels and arks, Let them take a walk on Earth on foot, Let them look at the sprouts of their seeds, And water them from the sky with tears of rain. So what about the earthly — what do they live by? The gifts of the earth and the love of God. Trying to live not somewhere out there, but here, And not to let the truth be painted over with lies.