He hung there like a fake Rembrandt
Beautiful but false.

His slender arms stretched like
Twisted towels.

His legs delicately crossed.

The beauty of his body raised before me;
An unwilling shroud.

The blood from his forehead
Moistened his lips as he raised his head
And said to me,
‘God is dead! God is dead!
Tell the people so.
Your future dies with me.
Your Father never was.
And your prayers remain unanswered.
Just lonely echoes in an empty universe.’