My God

My God, whom I deny so frequent,

in what mysterious ways do you work?

All logic says you don’t exist

and yet you are my closest confident.

Silent thoughts and solitude

cause this Doubting Thomas to conclude:

Had your mysteries been dissolved

by our reason’s light or our religions,

or had you been An Almighty King

whose people should fear

the black flames of perdition,

or some “loving God” spreading his word

with one bloodstained blade at a time

I could call you God no more

I could not make you mine.

Had there been no reason for me,

And “the here” and “the now”

just a heavenly quest

or if you were just some nameless deity

who wound-up the world

like a watch and left

Or some vengeful god who dictated his law

with unchanging commandments

revealed in a text,

I could call you God no more

for how is it mortals

should master your secrets?

You created us from divine reflection

“But on what wanting part of yourself?” I ask.

What caused this corrupted imagery

to become your creativity’s incarnation?

Silent thoughts and solitude

lead this Doubting Thomas to conclude:

Graced are we with gifts most holy

Longing, Depth, and Melancholy