Religion ...

(a metaphor, spoken as an observation.)

It does seem true,

    what mama  said:

                        “The dead are never

                                           really dead –

                         like day is never really gone;

                     it sets in our eyes, and somewhere

                 else is dawn.”

It does seem fair,

what daddy claims:

                          “There is a God

                                              who remembers all our names –

                                                                     and sees the wrong

                                                 someone does to us while hiding,

                                                                 and ties it to their name

                                                                   in dark, official writing.”

It does seem right and good

to be together,

singing hymns while

doors     hold out   shear weather:
“Holy holy, ghost,

be in me.”                                                              I think I feel him,

                           like breath.                       A candle flickers dimly.

I wonder sometimes,

whether God really      thinks       our verses

are better than           those in the “false” religions'

songs, that my priest (when he's riled up) curses.

I think                                          “What if God created us all,
                                       and each group sees, like at dawn,

                             their own sky's lessons?”
                                           But I'm always given back  our Faith to hold,

                                              like a knife through 

                                                                   the wings of questions.