Helpless

God has a wall

With billions of portraits.

Some are crooked,

Their heads tilting

Towards the ground below

Clinging on for dear life.

They reach ever so far

For the nail in the wall

That keeps them swinging,

But some fall helplessly.

One portrait dropped,

And its glass cracked.

The crack impaled the heart

Of the poor image.

God looked on.

He mustered a sniffle

Before putting up a new frame

In the same place.