O God

O God

If I cry out to you God
It is not because I know you’re there.
It is a long way back to
believing in your bearded,
lofty holiness.

I only ever loved you
when I met your son,
Jesus Christ – superstar
a perfect 1970s hero.
That still man who spoke so well.
A revolutionary with kind eyes
is always irresistible.

Maybe all Catholic girls
Just want to rescue Jesus.
Our cross to bear,
a blueprint for bad relationships.

I’ve considered you in other guises,
The Buddha detatched,
Colourful polygods of incense and symbols,
The post-Christ Allah,
Volume three in the trilogy
for the people of the book.

The tales are too human.
Our fingerprints are all over them.
the musings of desperate souls
swimming for a safe shore.
Without you, I’ll admit
There is a gulf, a gap to fill.

It would have been easier if I had
Never heard your name,
taken your body and blood.
Like Cinderella without the good fairy
I could have been happy
barefoot and princeless.

So I am left with you God
Sitting there at the right hand...
Unbelieveably ...God.
O God, waiting for God o
maybe just Good.