Am I forgetting
What I was taught as a young girl?
Is perspective changing
As I see a map of earth unfurl?
Am I doubting the heavens
That are suppose to be, beyond the sky?
Am I starting to question
What happens after I die?
Was there really a voice
I thought I could hear when I prayed with adoration?
Or was it all,
A figure of my imagination?
Is there something more to life,
Than life itself?
Or will I really just end up
With no one but darkness and myself?
Does everything this earth contain
Really belong to a creator?
Or is it that, beyond this shimmering universe
There is nothing greater?
Do I shame God, the Father
For denying my thirst for His spiritual water?
And for all this doubting,
Will he no longer call me, His daughter?
About the Creator
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford2 days ago in Fiction
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