Poem: Unkown

Unknown

There is a single man out there,
way, way beyond the horizon.
I am not sure when he gets up
or if he ever goes to bed.
Maybe he paces the cosmos,
walking through all the galaxies
when he can’t seem to fall asleep.
He wonders if all the scriptures
he’s read could possibly be true.
Is it crazy to believe that
somewhere out there in the distant,
cold, mostly empty universe,
that his children really exist?
And if his children do exist,
could it be possible that they
call him Father in reverent tones
though he has never met them or
seen any of them face-to-face?
Or are these lies he tells himself
to give his existence meaning?
It’s so difficult to exist.
How nice to believe in people
who sing sweet songs to his honor
and praise his eternal glory.
I bet those thoughts take the edge off
after he’s worked a six-day shift
dividing land from water,
separating the darks and lights,
doing the heavenly laundry.
When the sabbath day comes around,
I bet he’s tempted to finish
the animals that aren’t quite done—
to maybe give the jellyfish
epidermis and pigment or
make horses not afraid of the
wind since they live outside and all—
but these would be unwise choices.
How tedious his life would be
if he only chose to focus
on things at the edge of his hands.
It is the great unknown that breathes
meaning into the other things.
So the horse will have to spook and
the jellyfish will be spooky.
It’s the price of the time he needs
to feel like he is God and not
someone who’s only playing God.
He puts his handiwork aside,
stares way beyond the horizon,
imagines people in churches
swaying gently while they praise him
and confidently testify
how they will all meet him someday,
and his lips make a faint smile
as he gets the rest that he needs.

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