Prayer of a Novice Rebel

Don’t try to drop little nuggets. 
Please, Sir, I mean. 
Or give me too much of a sign. 
I don’t want a sign now— 
Not til aches and rocking chairs 
Have swallowed my soaring soul 
And lobotomized my passions. 

Don’t throw down a slice of eternity. 
Such knowledge would limit my freedom, 
And above all, now, 
I must shed my limits, 
Leave them limp and dangling 
While I emerge free. 
To feel. 
To be. 

Please, Sir, with all respect, 
I don’t want to think about you right now. 
Please keep the miracles 
And leave me to flounder 
Guiltless. 

I am led by a force I suspect you understand 
(did you plant this perversity in me?) 
Don’t I echo your days of godly adolescence 
Eons past, 
Of unshackled life lust, 
Erupting, that has no choice 
But to run its course? 
Please, Sir, still your fire finger, 
Leash your legions. 
I close my eyes. 
I will not hear. 
I can’t bear knowing you might care 
And even know my name. 
If I really thought so, 
Nothing would ever be the same.