It’s like they can sense a lack of religion, my godless state…and pounce!
I don’t want to hear of Jesus, and how he walked on the water, and (as with
Lazarus)
can bring me back to life. And while water to wine would be fine, I think I’ll
just buy mine.
I acknowledge only one miracle. Nothing to do with wounds, my miracle resides
in a woman’s
walk, that form in motion, curves and a promise of salvation. There is my divinity.
The holy ghost gets short shrift. It’s always accept Jesus this and praise god
that.
Why does the spook never get his due? No one knocks on my door wanting to tell
of spirits and madmen. Even in this poem he gets 3 lines!
I hold no truck with god, we have our deal; he leaves me alone, I do the same
for him.
Admittedly, I could be wrong. And that would be tragedy. But I would rather
live my life free,
and spend an eternity in hell, than waste it in slavery to something that does
not exist.
Leave me to my faith, and I’ll leave you to yours, no attempt persuading you
to disbelief.
And my prayer that goes unprayed is: Please Lord, grant me autonomy.
