A Skeptic

A skeptic I, engaging with a priest,
Who looks to me and saith, "There be a God."
He shows me where the rivers meet and clash,
A garden giveth beautiful facade.

"And here the birds do sing and crickets chirp,
And flowers o'er rolling hills so free,
And there a mountain stands so tall and proud,
Where but here could God be?"

"Our brothers do unite in name of God,"
Saith he, atop the steps of lovely church.
"They do much good and honest deeds for Christ,
Yet you continue frantic, faithless search."

Yea, doth this priest mean works of charity?
Whence men of God give to the sick and poor?
"Where but with God," he puts, "this nature found?
Only with God is this much found, and more."

"Ye faithless man!" he shouts, "You doubt your soul!"
O, Father! Wicked soul that I must own!
He screams to me of how he pities me,
"No God? You place yourself atop a throne!"

So, after thought, he gives his final speech:
"Look deep within your heart for hope and love,
And please work fast, for Heaven still awaits;
So that you may still meet our Lord above."

"I am a man of faith," I do protest,
"Albeit faith not placed in God--but, man."
I only say that, "Dreams we can aspire,"
And that, "We do in life but what we can."

"Though on this issue we have disagreed
On God, we find that we have common ground:
That precious faith and hope should come alive--
That love and beauty can, on Earth, be found."

He saith good deeds do come from men of Christ,
But ugly acts are often found there, too.
Though sometimes blood is spilled in name of God,
That faithful are to blame is not my view.

I say, "Of many things do men unite;
Whence men of many creeds do good and ill,
It matters not what faith a man doth claim:
Without your God, good acts do happen still."

A skeptic I, engaging with a priest,
I turn to him and state, "There is no God."
I show him where the rivers meet and clash,
A garden giveth beautiful facade.

"And here the birds do sing and crickets chirp,
And flowers o'er rolling hills so free,
And there a mountain stands so tall and proud,
Where you see God, for me: Beauty.

The priest and I depart and say goodbye.
Along my feet a feather--black--is stray.
As weary do I make my way back home,
A sparrow seems to find himself astray.

I step across the earth and make my way
Across the broken homes of men in need.
And through the streets and buildings I do spy
The sparrow waiting for me to proceed.

He follows past the temples of the monks,
Right past the baker and the captain's sea.
He follows every step that I doth take--
Where'er I turn, he stares right back at me.

I turn and run right by the church near home,
And wonder when this bird shall be sufficed!
Hath sparrow disappeared? But I look up:
And see him standing there, on Cross of Christ.

A skeptic I, the sparrow flies to me.
I look to him and ask, "Is there a God?"
He flies to where the rivers meet and clash,
A garden giveth beautiful facade.

And here the birds do sing and crickets chirp,
And flowers o'er rolling hills so free,
And there a mountain stands so tall and proud,
Ahead the sparrow--see!

Reviews

[Micco Gibson]

Very nice piece. Love the old style writing and how you use the line "A skeptic I" as a recurring theme. Very nicely written. Complex, and in a good way. Seems like you gave it a good amount of thought. I enjoyed reading this very much!