Dare I write a poem, claiming God doesn’t exist?
I admit sometimes that faith is missed. 
Sometimes I lie awake, ponder the past,
Wonder why my belief didn’t last.

Then I remember what I was forced to see,
The memories of abuse that still bleed.
I remember my polluted childhood,
How it bore very little good.

I think of cancer in children, and natural disasters,
Supposedly the plans of a loving master.
I think of ****, ******, and child abuse,
Suicidal kids hanging from nooses.

Science motivates my disbelief to a certain extent,
But other than that, I refuse to be content.
I can’t follow a “loving creator” who fails to care,
A “loving creator” who is never there.