God, Forgive Me If You're There

Sometimes I wonder if anyone Truly believes in a God– A Greater Being, typically benevolent Who watches + waits + whispers. Sometimes I wonder if everyone Clings to this idea for the comfort– The need, animalistic + entirely human, Of forgiveness. I don't believe a widow 20, with two kids + a mortgage + bills + Hungry mouths + a family of granite stones down by the church Would believe in God, but she would Pray to whatever, whomever In the vague hope someone would listen + Help her keep her children fed + content. Sometimes, I wonder if anybody Ever did– surely knights beaten + bloody Red coagulating over gauntlets + crusting over swords Would only ever collapse to a knee, heedless of the filth Corrupting the gleaming marble of the church floor. I wonder if they communed with a God for forgiveness Screams + pleas + blood building behind sweat-streaked foreheads– And felt numb when they finished prayer + opened their eyes To a new battlefield, awash in damning crimson from the stained glass. And I suppose that's the point, The Empty leeching all the hate + fear + anguish And laying at the feet of a benevolent being. In any case, God is truly Good, If only for giving the broken a sense of Being whole.