|
V. Doubt
One more poem, or two, or maybe three
will trace the lines God writes upon my heart.
Here among the sisters who feel called
to serve the diocese or serve their God,
I find myself compelled to try to see
if God has plans for me, if God has words.
I need a saving touch upon my head,
a feeling that can save me from my doubt,
a sense that God is real despite my doubt,
a courage to believe though many doubt.
I’ve ditched old Jesus time and time again
but it may turn out that he’s my friend.
I am reaching for him while my ears
suck music as a treatment for my fears.
VI. The Metaphysical
If I ever learn, the singer sings,
what my heart already knows. I think
I need to sing these lyrics to myself.
I wreck my head by trying to find out
the very simple truths that dwell in me.
My poetry is metaphysical
only when I let go of the science
I was raised with, when I turn my back
on my parents scorn of what is mystical.
Letting go of all this makes me happy.
I think of all the people far away
that I would like to see, to whom I’d say
it’s not just some unhealthy quirk of mine
that I am drawn to God, to the divine. |