Poetry

The Fall, 6 (250.)

I am not an atheist,
though I don’t believe in God in the way many others do.
I respect Jesus as a revolutionary,
and wish to learn more about the prophet Muhammad.
I frequently hear people list their favorite places,
or their favorite pastimes,
and I wonder
if they think of these things
with reverence.
It is then I realize
I have no Mecca, no Torah,
no sacred anythings to call my own.
I believe in a lot of different things, sure;
though I do not hold any one
place or belief or idea
above the rest.
Again, I say
I am not an atheist,
for I believe many to be divine.
I believe much to be important.
I believe …
I believe.
I enjoy the feel of sunbeams caressing my skin,
I answer the call of coffee and the fragrance it sends.
When I pet my cat and see her calm down,
I know love courses through me.
I’ve walked through literary buildings built
brick by verbal brick,
and I’ve
cavorted in universes
that fuse pixels clever and quick.
I’ve seen will made manifest
in myriad expressions, and I
believe in these arts.
In all our different ways,
I believe.

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