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 rape, murder, 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.