Oh God

If I cry out to you God,

it is not because I know you’re there.

It’s a long way back to

believing in your bearded holiness.

I only ever loved you

when I met your son,

Jesus Christ, Superstar,

that perfect 70s hero.

That still man who spoke so well.

A revolutionary with kind eyes -

always irresistible.

Maybe all Catholic girls

Just want to rescue Jesus.

Our cross to bear,

our blueprint for bad relationships.

I’ve considered you in other guises,

the Buddha detached,

those colourful polygods of incense and cymbals,

the post-Christ greatness of Allah,

Volume three in the trilogy

for the People of the Book.

But the tales are too human.

Our fingerprints are all over them,

the musings of desperate souls

swimming for a safe shore.

It would have been easier if I’d

never heard your name,

taken in your body and blood.

Like Cinderella without the good fairy

I could have been happy,

barefoot and prince-less.

So, I am left with you God,

sitting there at the right hand...

Unbelievably ...God.

Oh God, waiting for God..ot

or maybe just good.