Why
I have walked in the valley of the shadow of death, and I have feared great ill
And stumbled over stony ground, where surer feet have fell.
I’ve known the loss of guiding hand and mourned its steady hold,
and wandered in the desert place, beyond the shepherds fold.
My prayers have bounced from brass clad dome, to echo in the void,
my tears and cries unanswered, my faith and trust destroyed.
The bitter gall of emptiness, of wasted time and chance,
that choked the breath and stabbed the heart, with realizations lance.
The power above, no longer hears, the screams of mankind’s woe,
those omnipresent eyes of care, no longer watch below.
For in that place where heaven was, there sits an empty hall,
resounding every echo, of the cries and pleas of all.
The countless Gods, the Prophet hordes, the Holy men renowned,
lie unmarked in their wooden rooms, awaiting promised crowns.
Their statues bear this testament to all who look and stare.
If one of these knew truly God, why won’t his God declare?
How many thousand million lives, deceived by reverent fraud,
search in everlasting void, abandoned by their God?
What of the countless multitudes, who starve in barren fields,
Or die in futile battles, fought for other people’s greed?
Where is the justice where’s the right, where stand the meeker then?
The trite reply rings hollow from the lips of Holy men;
you cannot understand his ways, nor question God’s great plan.
Suffice to live, and then to die, a hope filled happy man.
Am I alone in asking, or wondering if it’s true,
Where is the God of Abraham and fiery furnace too,
this God that guided Israelites, from Egypt’s brutal hands,
and led the way, with power and fire, into a promised land?
Oh that I’d walked in Canaan’s fields, and spoken face to face,
and asked the burning questions, on behalf of mankind’s race.
Where did you go, why do we wait upon this tortured earth,
and Seeking God of truth and love, discovering only dearth.
Yet still I hope, and still I pray, not knowing if I’m heard,
and read and try to understand, the everlasting word.
A fool am I, apparently, to query mystic things,
to witness Faustian madness, and the pain religion brings.
Yet still the questions hang in space, their letters ten miles high,
For Who, and What, and When, and Where, and most important WHY?
Copyright © David Wallace | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment