I was too modest to admit it publicly
But I knew I was God.

What I wanted was right
And I knew those who were righteous
Or unrighteous
By whether or not they did what I wanted.

The good people praised me
Honored me
Believed whatever I spoke
The evil ones did not.

I intended to make my world happy
If those in my world were obedient to my desires
I rewarded them
If they dissented
I made them miserable.

The only problem I had when I was God
Was my competition
Not from my fellow gods
Who clamored and campaigned to assert their own deity
But from the one who said

He claimed to be the Creator
And Sustainer of the universe
He claimed that though men might kill
He had the power to raise from the dead

At first I decided
His claims were irrelevant
Life is NOW
Death is…?

Like all claimants to godhood
I lived with the fear that people
Might discover that I was a phony
After all, none of US created the universe!

And as for rising from the dead
I had to admit
That I was afraid to be caught dead!

I had to resign from being God
I was forced by my conscience
To renounce my claims of righteousness
I had to turn to that One who proved He was the Creator
By rising from the grave.

Now that I am no longer God
I can’t give commandments
But I do have some advice
For those who might still think they are God.

Only He has the power over death.
If you can’t take my word for it
Take His—
1 Corinthians, Chapter 15.

— Moishe Rosen, a Jew for Jesus

This poem appeared in the Independent Journal, San Rafael, California as a service to perishing gods, who were invited to write our office for further advice and information.