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When God created the world in 4004 BC
He didn't mean it to last even one thousand years.
It was a prototype, testing the design
Before he built the real thing.
That's why the continents weren't tacked down properly,
Why he used surplus dinosaur bones as fill,
And why there's an animal in his own image
Expected not to think it's God.
When you've finished with a prototype,
You sling it in the bin.
Is this the bin?
A remote spiral arm, light years from anywhere,
Full of other mistakes and leftover debris,
While out there the production version,
Billions of Gardens of Eden scattered across the universe,
Is stable and bug-free at release 3.2.
Maybe he's still testing,
Buddha, JC, Mohammed and David Koresh just new injections of data,
Each counting from a new beginning,
Believing in their own millennium.
Maybe he's lost interest,
Blown the budget.
Or maybe he can't fix the design flaws
And has left us out here
So that, frustrated,
He can throw rocks at us,
Manage to hit us.
Copyright © D.W. Walker, 2000
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