O Supplicant, sweet supplicant!
What can one do for you?
What do you want the universe
to change? Will it come through?
A yellow light is dawning now –
are miracles aborning
at last to offer what you crave?
No, happens every morning,
you say, as if the morning weren’t
anything to care for.
The sun goes up, the sun goes down –
that isn’t what you’re there for.
Perhaps this afternoon, let’s say,
At four o’clock, at tea,
some god will make a visit: show
you all you want to see.
What are you holding back, dear?
Are you secretly in love
with not receiving anything
from any god above?
Perhaps you’ve never not had
what you want: and must concede
you’ve long been what you burn to be:
a paragon of Need.