Is That You, God?

Poem about a boy

Children take in everything; see, feel, hear all kinds of things. To be recalled later, when the adult mind is challenged to sort through it all. I wrote this recently when pondering religion and spirituality; western religion versus eastern philosophy. It all worked out in the end.

Little boys, with little dreams Carefree hearts, and silent screams Did I wish them, did I care Now they’re gone, no one’s there.

Did I see her, was it clear Did it matter, was she there? In the shadows, under the bed All around me, thoughts of dread

Sinner be, or sinner was Taught so well, could not dispel Thoughts of heaven thoughts of hell Feeling vulnerable, like Pavlov’s bell

I believed, thought I must Couldn’t see, past the trust The Holy Spirit, the Holy Ghost Went with him, that mattered most

And here I sit, years gone by Catechism — can’t say why All those thoughts, kept inside Some have faded, some have died

All their words, none of mine All their warning, and their cries Always wondered, never saw Past the music, past the flaws

Decades past, people change Anger fades, free at last Wonders ceased, visions grew Words are spoken, she’s coming through

Now I know, now I see What once was, is what was meant to be Childhood fears, on the nod Still I ponder, was that you, God?