Today I met a novelist...
But how good of a man he is
To call himself an "atheist"?

A story he told, bout'
A man who valiantly fought
The enemy of one's own thought.
And as the novel unfolds,
I saw the Lord, our God
In every word, in every form
In every smile he paints the world.

And so maybe, the one who claims: "I'm an atheist"
Forever marks themselves a "God seeker"
Who's faith could someday own the world.

For their guarded piece of sorrow.

Is
Is not
these two
no more

Actual

Fact is
There are only
two types if people  
those who believe
and the zeroes

ity

On
Off
True True
It's skewed really
False False
By its own nature

Exhibit A
was it G?
everything exists
evident in hard lines
proof

Even backholes

What if

proofing
God
equates
proving
Art

Dab brought me up as a Christian.
His dad had been a preacher,
So carrying on tradition through Holy Diction
Might have been the only path he had seen.
Until Grandpa died.
And we stopped going to church
And we stopped talking about God.

There was never a catharsis.
I never had an epiphany,
But endeavored in gradual change.
And the notion of nonreligion
Was now not so strange.
I am now who I misunderstood.
I'm sorry.

Happiness is less easy to find
Is that from experience or religion or both?
Life is suddenly less kind.
But if it brought me joy, and wouldn't leave me sad,
I would start going to church,
I would talk about God,
And I would talk to my Dad.