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.
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