My God is the Sun
Each time I pray for rain the summer sun
Beats harsher down. Does God refuse to bend
Or shift his will? Perhaps he’s dense. Perhaps
My prayer’s slight. My neighbor sings sometimes.
I might as well. Although my voice is hoarse,
I’ll simply add my sons and daughters. We’ll
Become a whole chorus and hide my voice
Within. On top of that, I’ll bid the priest
To write a hymn that hits the sacred notes
To coax our God to make it rain. The ground
Is cracked as are our lips. My fields lay dead
And barren yet I think a song will fix
Our mess, as long as words are sung the best,
Our voices loud, then God will take a shine
To us and bless the fields with rain. If not
Then God does not exist. Of course, I kid.
If that’s the truth, well then… My fields lay dead
And barren yet I hope a song will fix.
I know a song will fix it all. Set thoughts
Aside and sing. Come on, let’s all just sing.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 28 times
Written on 2026-07-13 at 09:42
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Clara Mae Gregory |
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jim |
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jim |
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Griffonner |
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Clara Mae Gregory |
