Your Own God

I come to you stealthily,

tired of yesterday's hope.

I know you will kiss me

in the middle of my green soul.

Do not want too much

from life,

because solitude is not conducive

to the climate here.

Do not expect faith from me

to help you find your own God.

Before a mismatched dream

takes away your remnants of conscience,

give me a single gulp

of air.

Teach me to trust the past.

I fade out slowly,

fade away without respite,

entangled in the web of my own

thoughts, enslaved to the demons

of my most beautiful dreams.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

as Joan Osborne sang..."what if God was one of us, a slob like one of us"
He could be sitting right next to us and we might not notice.
We all have our own interpretation of faith, of spiritualism.
We all invite our God to sit down next to us and explain himself...
Do we trust the past and what we have been taught.
Catholic schools warped me...my most beautiful dreams always have a tinge of guilt attached.
j.

[Lathen Griffiths]

I like the open endedness within your poem here, it lives up to the title and leaves the reader a place to put their own ideals within, their own idea of god or spirituality as it were.

Well written.

Lathen.