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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Dear-Sir… or Madam I’m not in the habit of talking to air But just for the moment I’ll talk like you’re there My mind isn’t closed to your eternal existence My doubts are not simply a stubborn resistance But I cannot see you, I can’t feel you’re there And I can’t comprehend that you’re everywhere But I spurn no religion, refute no-one’s faith I envy the way they feel cosy and safe The way they feel shielded from final damnation Instead to be offered eternal salvation No need to show off Nor to cry it out loud Maybe the shape of your face in a cloud Perhaps if a bible just sat in the street Should trip an assailant who beats a retreat And the clouds above part to reveal a bright sun And your voice in my head says, “You’re welcome, my son.” might I wonder, then, And might I contemplate The notion that You are my light and my fate. I don’t fail to see all the beauty on Earth I never have sought to devalue its worth But where it all came from, I’ve, almost since birth Puzzled… and fought that confusion with mirth But I’m sure of one thing… your humour is sound In fact I’d be tempted to call it profound For only a God that has wit on his side Would make man… and put all his plumbing outside The poems I write that make light of your majesty I sense that you won’t see as insult or travesty I’ve made light of you and your son and his mother But I think you’ll smile and say tell me another No need to show off Nor to cry it out loud Maybe the shape of your face in a cloud Perhaps if a bible just sat in the street Should trip an assailant who beats a retreat And the clouds above part to reveal a bright sun And your voice in my head says, “You’re welcome, my son.” might I wonder, then, And might I contemplate The notion that You are my light and my fate. But now I must come down to Earth to reflect On talking to air and what I might expect In spite of the beauty, the air that I breathe As much as I’d like to, I cannot believe But maybe if I were to walk any street And ashes and embers rain down on my feet Where a bush is ablaze for a fire’s been made And it should say, ‘Hey, call the fire brigade.’ Then there might be hope for this cynical waif For something like that might just give me faith For now though I’ll try to live life good and kind And maybe, God willing… you’ll give me a sign. No need to show off Nor to cry it out loud Maybe the shape of your face in a cloud Might I wonder, then, And might I contemplate The notion that You are my light and my fate. Yours faithfully… … Yours faithfully… … .. Or should that be… … Faithfully yours …
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