Oh father, do you live still
in the heavens up above?
Then why, oh why, this choice of unforgivable distance
from all of those you claim to love so well...?
When with one thought you might be here with us
in less than a blink or the wink of an eye.
There, within the skies, a
longing grows -
to know you as a breath of living air, and more;
for every form of your creation longs for you to be
at one with every particle, alive within the moving tides;
beneath, within, and flowing through
these forms of life you ought to know so well.
Now tell me, father, where
in this our hour of dire need?
How can the merest seed of an idea
continue to imagine your existence?
When you seek to hide so deftly
from all sense of your responsibility.
It seems now, that to be like
you is not to be alive,
for life can never thrive within your haunting reminiscence
of light before this night had come to be;
and if truly, all infinity, can be no more than right and good
what reason can we find to carry on?
Created in your image – how
many say these words
believing you to be the power of good
when all that you create begins within its opposite
refusing to sustain itself alone.
So when, my father, will you finally learn
to nurture all that’s there within yourself?
And nurturing, in empathy at last,
fully come to know the feel of your creation . . .
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .