April Poem 4

you found me once
at a toilet bowl
having fought
and lost again.

how can you blame
me for my anger?
wondering why
you hide so well?

it's not my fault,
i couldn't see
my life was hard
where had you been?

and i was told
at an early age
you're like saint nick:
too good for truth.

and i suspect
at times you were
a projection of
my desperate mind.

and sometimes doubt
gnaws at my throat
so i can't breathe
and i'm afraid

but don't you fret!
you aren't without
the sunsets on
an open sea

the book of john
a crown of thorns
and consciousness
and life itself

and to be honest
if science solves
the mysteries of
all time and space

if every christian
sleeps in on sunday
puts up your book
on a dusty shelf

or even worse,
if they become
mean with money
and self-righteousness,

if all else fails,
then don't you fret
you'll still have me,
Lord,
you'll still have me.