The Athiest

A struggle over spirituality.

God, what do you want to hear?

I searched for you in every newspaper I read

And every letter I wrote home,

But you never arrived.

The border between you and me

Seems as wide and high as a gunshot,

And though we wheeze together

Your breath is cut short because you were chased out of town,

While mine is ragged because of ashtma.

 

God, honesty is a problem in this world,

Where even play fighting can draw blood-

Wounds that only curse words can heal.

How can I tell you the truth

When all your prayers turned out to be lies?

 

Author's Note

A deviation from my usual style, as I usually use less pronoun and am heavier with imagery. It feels awkward to me. Any help?

Reviews

[Nicholas Hallows]

Hmm... as for imagery, I don't think it is lacking any. Not in the first stanza anyway; letters, gunshots, wheezing - all great images if you ask me.

Perhaps the second stanza could be extended slightly to give the piece a little more structure?

I think that poems that ask questions can often seem awkward because they just read like a list of questions rather than giving anything. But I think this poem is on the right track and you should keep at it.

God work!

[Legion]

Wow. Very dark and inventive. Ashtma is spelled asthma. Great write. Love the last two lines the best.