Tell Them

Tell them you are not satisfied.
Shake your fists at heaven,
raise hell to the angels—His
customer service, indeed!

Never around when you want them,
hiding in His glare
singing so loud they drown us out.
That’s it.
He has asked them for so much
they no longer hear our prayers,
shouted,
shoved into a crack,
placed in foil,
Tupperware,
sent up for inspection,
reaction.

It is hard to believe,
literally,
when we have to make up miracles
out of everyday things:
clouds, blooming flowers,
people walking, smiles and
other platitudes of religious school.
I’m not buying.
If He wants belief,
He’ll need to come down
and shake his fists at me.

Published in Drash, Volume 2, April 2008

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~ by danielwrasmus on May 31, 2010.

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