God Willing

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 actual existence My doubts are not simply a stubborn resistance But I cannot see you, I can’t feel your touch And logic decrees I require that much 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 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 had 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 But now I must come down to Earth with a bump For talking to air makes me feel like a chump In spite of the beauty, the air that I breathe As much as I’d like to, I just can’t believe But maybe if I were to walk any street And ashes and embers should shower 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 fine And maybe God willing, you’ll show me a sign. Yours faithfully…