This poem is untitled, as all letters are:

To God,
He who lives in heaven,
and oversees the lives of the continents seven,

Dated 2001, September eleven,

From your humble, bound, once powerless colleague,
Who’s been waiting for his chance to make it to your league,

To speak about Your Dethronement

Dear Sir,

I hope to find you in most jovial vigor,
It’s been a fine day, I have never smiled bigger,
Seeing your children on earth did trigger
a beautiful divine melodious rigor.

Ah I have been entrapped in a cage,
as the easiest sin to entrap and enrage,
for aeons I could never truly engage
the beautiful melodies of death and of rage.

Your children looked me never eye to eye
although they turned to me when they couldn’t scrape by,
or when they most timidly lie,
With no one else to help but I.

But when they were done and satisfied,
they always apologized.

They’d just use me and throw me away,
by feigning friendship they tried to me sway,
but when I was away, they’d stow themselves safe at bay
And about me say:
“This poor excuse for evil sin
Most petty he is, we shan’t give in
To his simple excuses and his blatant lies—
Every fool sees through this guise.”

I bide my time. I never forget.
And the final laugh I’d always get.
They always came to me again
And this time they’d be their own bane
I’d make sure that they were thoroughly slain.

But petty crimes are all I got
For the rich and the powerful saught
pride and envy and lust and greed
Yet wrath they had learned to never heed.

But today that tide will forever change,
and it is you I must thank, how strange.
For your children have gifted you with the finest facade
of love and compassion, oh what a beautiful ballade
The screams, the blood, the fear, the tears,
Are but sweet nectar to my ears!

Two towers stood tall and now there’s one,
and soon my love will make it none
You may think that with that it’s done
Ah, you can keep wishing that, Hun.

For now the seeds of wrath are plant
And in e-ver-ry mind a doubt will grant
against all but one a hate will brew
And this hate I will carefully stew
Until this hate in all hearts grew

I hope the situation you reckon.
Your children, they did now me abeckon.
Fear not, you have just yourself to blame,
But the world will never ever be the same.

Gone are the days when men did realise
that their kin, their brethren, helps them rise.
Now they rise monuments, reach new highs, against one another and
merely get tangled in a web of lies,
And use each other like mere dice,
The world’s a spring of unadulterated vice.

I thank your children for their sin
I thank you for your love within
For now I stand with usurped power
And now there won’t be friend or lover
And now all men will dance with hate
And now all men will march with haste
For you and they have sealed this fate.

I lament this one last page,
But it has come time for this new age,
A war on men now men will wage,
And I look forward to setting the stage.

With Love And always with boundless Rage,
Wrath