Why can’t you give me something concrete? I’m tired of listening to man-kind make up sorry excuses for the VAST lack of proof of your existence.
Growing up, the game telephone taught me not to trust everything I heard. So your word, which has passed through centuries of people, must be immensely more of a mockery than purple monkey dishwasher by now.
I want to believe in you, but not the man-made scrambled version. I don’t need the money crazed christmas incarnation. I don’t want to believe for fear of hell, nor for the promise of paradise.
I want to be independent from the smug, numb flocks who print you in any variety that sells allegiance.
Were you created to control
Every earthly soul?
Man-made and able to be sold?
The truth is greater than the fiction
That the traitor has written
And traded your made up nature
For fear, power, and paper.
But I believe in you,
With our world aside
As not to misconstrue
With the populated pride
In which selfish desires pursue.
And if I never get to know you,
Or if you don't exist,
You'll be the only stranger
That I've ever truly missed.