I miss God.
Not god, but God.
Is it possible to yearn for an emotion?
Reverence, for example.
Men in white dress.
Candles lit in their hands.
Singing softly, majestic hymns.
Traveling across a park to me.
Perhaps I cried for a man's death.
My agnostic ways allow this.
Crying for him, maybe even Him.
Because I can't say he is unreal.
But I can't stand there with them.
Reading their paper stories.
Maybe I cried in fear.
That I stand across the street from Heaven.
And it will patiently wait for me.
Show its processions of signs and songs.
Give me my temporary faith.
So I can have my little fight with God.
I battle for independence of intellect.
He waves his beautiful offering
Whenever I stand alone, without defense.
Tonight, it was a bus stop and sore feet.
My heart felt small and thoughts permeated.
I didn't ask for any flashing evidence
Or stare into the sky wondering about it all.
The world felt normal, the night typical.
And in a second's time, my eyes soaked.
The score of believers behind men in gowns.
Warm on a cold windy night among the holy.
He offered it to me, too.
From afar, he reached into my indifference
And he tore it out by a small miracle.
That a doubter should believe in moments
And survive without Him, without his light.
Then stand alone and revel in faith.
A faith so real, so alive, that doubt never existed.
And even if it should again
It would be doubt in the flesh and pen.
Not in the house He built and gave emotion to.
The house I live in even when I look away
And call myself a non-believer of spiritual sorts.
He's there too.
Perhaps I am not so alone,
Not so malfaithed.
Are we all in disbelief, thriving on tearful moments?
Moments holding us together like glue
And calling that glue our faith, our salvation.
I am a believer.
But I have no faith.
Because He doesn't live in his house.
He only visits ocassionally.
I'll wait until he comes again.