There is nothing more subjective than god.
Some people carry him in their pockets,
Some on their tongue,
Some on their back,
While other they camouflage god
And still god, he creeps through
Cracks in your system,
Beautifying that strange sanctum
Called the soul, with bullet
Proof walls. God is just
With today’s paint, and what you
Have at the end, is mercy, the type
That takes the weight of your legs
The afterlife beckoning
And that riddle is enough to make
A little pact with god,
“Look after me in the afterlife”
And I will chant your name.
And still we realize god is just
An enigma at best, who is found
Everywhere, in a cyanobacterium
Or a date palm, the small and tall
Or for that matter,
In Kim Kardashian’s buttocks.
How much talent does God
Have as a sculptor, you wonder.
We are aliases to time
And when we die, we are shuttled
The Christian says,
And when one life goes, another shoots out,
Soul is cargo that gets trapped in form
And when that happens
Love shoots out a little zygote,
The most basal life.
God gave you the key to life
A door stands between
You and a heartbeat
You are the chief, the captain, the conquistador,
Of renewal. We are doll
Makers, little Kens and Barbies,
We are more Gepetto than God
We make children
Who grow up learning that
A lie, is what saves the day,
And not the truth.
God-proofing is a lifestyle choice now
To be an atheist,
To pronounce that you’re
Just as organic as life is,
And a heartbeat away,
From reaching compost heaven
In your afterlife.