No god ever spoke to me.
Not because I never tried!
There were times I cried
And begged to hear a word.
Nothing seemed to be heard.
There was no imperious voice
With avoiding not being a choice.
There was no burning bush;
Nor gentle or heavy push
One direction or the other.

It remained for me to get together
With some paid hack with a book
Who preferred not to look at me
Because he wanted to deal with
Easier sins than I could offer
Then, I was to add to his coffer
For rebuilding his den of thieves
But that couldn't relieve my worry
Or my problems. Maybe the Muslims
Could chant from their book of mysteries.

But no, I had already read their history
And large hunks of their sacred poems.
I recognize double-talk when I see them.
I got plenty of that in my upbringing.
I can still hear the songs they were singing
About eyes on sparrows and loving
But the poor are still naked and dying.
The poor are all nationalities and colors
And they lay in the gutters together
As the godly brothers pass; spit at them
And demand they get up and move away
And take their misery to another doorway.

I, the unhearing, could find no endearing
Reason to put on costumes and dance
To some four thousand year old romance
About gypsies and witches promising
To keep on doing what I was doing
And I would see the kingdom of heaven
Or maybe even six or seven, to suit belief.
Meanwhile here I am on this reef, at sea
With no deity to talk to me and explain
Why none of the miracles remain today
But have been washed away by time.
Or did they ever really exist at all?
Me? I’m still awaiting that divine call;
For my schefflera to catch on fire, or
To receive from god a Western Union wire.