I Wish I Couldve Told You

I Wish I Could’ve Told You I wish I could’ve told you, back then before you died, ‘Cos you so badly wanted to know about the reason, For my good nature, kind heart and intelligence plied, The content of my belief about Jesus and his lesson. I had the guts to say, I think, just what I read and took, From the gospels wager to generate circumstances raw, From a disciple’s view of town life in old Nazareth’s nook, From how their readers would interpret the followers’ caw. But I only went so far, and didn’t explain your standing, To me as an atheist, you were so noble with communion: I didn’t say if I counted myself in the church for grounding; I never questioned your divisive separation of human union. I wasn’t able to be commended by school carers firm, With steal regarding the acceptance of siblings able; I would never have been graced by others to confirm, My ramification of atheism’s way, historical and capable. So I never said the words to you James, hid and dried, That I don’t believe in god, the existence or the myth, But I know from my young days of those tears you cried, Because I felt your reverence for my own dear pith. Atheists are not valid in society, still not to this day, Feel snubbed by those who fear life’s bold dynamics, Find themselves abused by alligators of literary play, But who strive for righteousness and its rhythmics.