O’ what a sigh for good old brother Mike,
Who once as a child prayed to god for a bike.
He remembered in lamentation those years as a tyke
How his parents were poor, so all he got was a trike.
He wondered what it was about him god did not like,
And every Christmas, he felt like dinner to a shrike.
But as years grew so did his faith yet not his psych,
Because all he had to do was pray: good little Mike!
O’ the memories of many wasteful teenage years,
All for a god who preached love with chills and fears.
Poor teenage Mike never learned to play with his peers,
Or tickle the inside of a girl till she smiles and cheers.
In university he never bothered with science or even math,
Just read the bible which directed him into a dumber path.
One that shows the might of a benevolent god’s wrath
So he joined a Christian monastery and took a holy bath.
Brother Mike got older but never wiser and became a priest.
Little did he learn about the universe, that is to say at least,
That ignorance is never bliss, and stupidity is like a beast.
Alas, his fear towards an un-existing god had increased,
But his love, his passion, and intelligence had all decreased.
He was now an old man packing nothing but tearful regret,
Which always made his face look sorrowful and even upset.
Just loves to pray but now asks that he will soon forget,
While contaminating his lungs smoking a stale cigarette.
How unlucky for poor brother Mike that as of yet,
He never learned the science of his own silhouette.
Like playing the untimed music of a short-handed quartet,
From god, he learned that death was now a bigger threat.