False Idylls

Don't read this as a religious poem (I'm an atheist, after all).

I don’t believe in a god.
God was my father,
That warm, supportive love,
That rape, fear, and nameless shadows that wielded guns, infiltrating my cave of blankets from which I purported truth where none other could be found.
God was the blue of my eyes and my parents’ eyes, encompassing all above
The rainbows of God’s shadows, his tears of rain.
I built a caterpillar dreamland of escape
And now, He is dead,
Left and gone.
His shadow agents come to reach out and I despair,
For I left God so long ago,
But even now I look out
And seek that hidden, silent comfort
Of knowing someone is there
Even if I don’t believe.
Even if I know the stories,
that mythic protection
those faded eyes
were all a false idyll.

The End

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