I can’t make myself believe in a God the way they’d like me
preached in their way
ruled and lined up tight only one
direction to travel
leming
sheep
goat
human
so short sighted I feel a need to rail and throw barbs my face growing hot with
desire to scald their word(lessly)-filled tongues
have mercy
they take others with them too dear lord
there are no words
I don’t go to them for answers
I’m 55; I’ve tried
the road is not hidden nor is it narrow
neither is it paved in gold
there is something without the microphoned words and over-amped songs
a something that stretches mysteriously
invisibly?
delicately
beyond the suit that is seen
in memoirs and dairies
journals and poems scribed by the legends living out their self like you
like I
until the frustration of perfections unattainment takes them out
they talk to themself
or God you choose
in a way that
just makes sense
cancel the church service
let fall open a poem a journal a diary a memoir
touching the earth
for life