You tell me there’s no God in heaven,
You say that grief is proof enough,
Yet in the throbbing of your heartache,
I see the questions you speak of.
I won’t pretend to answer for Him,
His the words you seek, not mine;
But I have had my share of questions,
And I have proof of the Divine.
Admire first our sheer existence,
Cradled by fabric of His thought,
We can’t but smile without assistance,
And you would claim the world self-taught?
You tell of wretched things forsaken,
You speak the language of despair,
But hope for this can reawaken,
For I see God in how you care.
I hear Him loudest in the silence,
His whisper charms my worry dead.
I bring to Him my doubts to solve them,
His presence melts them all instead.
The air about Him swells with love,
His very gaze can banish lies,
And demons quake as they behold
Their mere reflection in His eyes.
