No god deserves my questions.
It made me
human, and so here I am, fulsome
in my flaws.
My fury and confusion
skim the cosmos at their arc,
before catapulting back into
the spitting seas of Earth.
Tell me, Surf,
tell a friend - what are your
objections?
My confidence: mother and child
of it all. No I: no He. See
how my tiny language
proves our tie.
This sceptic averts
an anathemal vacuum.
And no god
has earned my questions yet.
so i'm thinking of doing a suicideboys set. all those in favour say aye.
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I'm slowly warming to this one, not as instantly accessable as some of your other works, its seems to want to be profound whilst recognising the ego and hopelessness involved in 'talking to God'.
no god has earned my questions yet seems more vulnerable rather than defiant to me