Dear God,
Dear Alpha and Omega,
Dear Lord,
I'd like to say I'm too smart
To believe in you,
But the truth is
I'm confused enough to talk to you,
Even though I know you're deaf.
I suppose I should have learned sign language,
But how hard can it be to press my palms
Into a flesh cathedral
And whisper my silly questions
Like prayers
Inbetween my fingers,
Webbed with stained glass profiles
Of your wife and mother?
Apparently I need a rosary,
But I've never been too keen on jewelry,
Or water said to be holy,
It looks pretty **** smooth to me.
You wrote a book, at least that's what
I've been told; best seller, millions sold
But how much does the editor change around
Until your ideas are stripped to their skeletons?
Just pretending you were listening
Was enough for me,
Whose as blind as you are deaf.
Your silence doesn't cut it now,
Now that I'm old enough to tell
The difference between
Someone who can't hear and
Someone who can't listen.
I know which one you are, sir,
And I'm unimpressed -
But still I talk to you,
My words slick with shame.
Superman is more reliable than you,
And everyone seems to agree
He's the idealized fiction,
And you're our savior -
But what kind of savior treats us like
Kitty Genovese, screaming for help
Only to have her salvation listen to her die
Behind closed doors?
I hope you know what you're doing,
Because we're made in your image,
And I sure as hell don't.
I guess, out of all the questions pooling
At the tip of my tongue,
I'd ask you to answer only one:
Why do I insist on wasting my breath?
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Dear God,
Dear Alpha and Omega,
Dear Lord,
I'd like to say I'm too smart
To believe in you,
But the truth is
I'm confused enough to talk to you,
Even though I know you're deaf.
I suppose I should have learned sign language,
But how hard can it be to press my palms
Into a flesh cathedral
And whisper my silly questions
Like prayers
Inbetween my fingers,
Webbed with stained glass profiles
Of your wife and mother?
Apparently I need a rosary,
But I've never been too keen on jewelry,
Or water said to be holy,
It looks pretty **** smooth to me.
You wrote a book, at least that's what
I've been told; best seller, millions sold
But how much does the editor change around
Until your ideas are stripped to their skeletons?
Just pretending you were listening
Was enough for me,
Whose as blind as you are deaf.
Your silence doesn't cut it now,
Now that I'm old enough to tell
The difference between
Someone who can't hear and
Someone who can't listen.
I know which one you are, sir,
And I'm unimpressed -
But still I talk to you,
My words slick with shame.
Superman is more reliable than you,
And everyone seems to agree
He's the idealized fiction,
And you're our savior -
But what kind of savior treats us like
Kitty Genovese, screaming for help
Only to have her salvation listen to her die
Behind closed doors?
I hope you know what you're doing,
Because we're made in your image,
And I sure as hell don't.
I guess, out of all the questions pooling
At the tip of my tongue,
I'd ask you to answer only one:
Why do I insist on wasting my breath?