Rites of the Sage

God's voice is soft and quiet between the meadow grass;

there are ancient books that promise he still loves you.

But his words do not rise above dandelion petals anymore;

his voice trickles to a breath, impalpable and indistinct.

God's hands are faded shadows between law and loitering;

temples are flowing with chanting, desperate believers.

Fisherman wrap empty dragnets around their watery souls;

the sea seems abandoned by the touch of cosmic powers.

God has left you cold and starving for feelings of long ago;

there are ministers on their knees on every chapel step.

But you cry for a path divergent and wake the same ways;

splashed in the crescent's silver, you say your Lord is indifferent.

Reviews

[poetgurl]

relatable write, enjoyed your words.

[Gaurav]

I can relate your words with one of the piece i written a year ago 'pessimism during big bang' - please check it out. And who can better understand the grief of men who are left unloved by the God? let it survive somehow but not live.

[Suhd]

Ah! Filled with despair, this is so good and tender Thanks for sharing :)