god molds differently to the contours of each hand
one says the splintered tables are god, that
god is a group of drunks, now drunk on sobriety
the next says she imagines buddha and christ walking side by side
another says god is a single blade of green grass
yet another doggedly states
i refuse to label god as male, female, it
i only know there exists power and
i am not it
my legs can't stop shaking, i'm
unchained by their words
could it really be this simple?
has language been my greatest barrier all along?
have i confused narrowed perceptions of god
as being god?
what if the only way to live from here is by
letting all the archaic terminology of god die?
what if god is a picture never before painted,
an image never conceived,
a resplendent word yet to be breathed to life?
No comments:
Post a Comment