God

This mortal man will not accept Godhood,
Throw totems and coins on his grave,
Until you make of his bones a temple,
But he will not rise into answered prayers,
And that was never the point anyway,
His burdens were never lowered onto riverbanks,
Nor did he slake summers with rain,
His marble was veined with misery
But you will find thread in these ruins,
Your children will knit His name
With the same patience that makes mediocrity
Raw stone against glacial winds,
His tears will be agony he chose to feed
The unbroken earth when he could have
Spilled blood and become champion,
Ascend into songs for bonfire nights,
But your children will memorize the hymn
Of his unbeaten beating heart,
Plant trees on deep soil,
Swallow winters with holy duty,
To find their quiet in his iced over bells,
They will know peace under their eyes,
Breathe pain in plain sacrifice,
And you will etch His name on skies,
But he will not accept Godhood.

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