Dear God

  

Take this stole

from my neck,

this robe

off my back.

You don’t scare me

with your salt.

I will look back.

 

Pull this cross

from my chest,

yank this Bible

outta my hand.

I’m over it, God.

You take them

to that promised land

 

Block me from

the pulpit,

keep me from

the font.

My well is dried up,

living water’s all gone.

My soul wastes from want.

 

In case you

haven’t noticed,

I’m tired and I’m worn.

Exhausted from the trying,

the worry and the strain.

My prayers return unanswered,

so, yes, I will complain.

 

The good news

feels damn lousy,

your kingdom

just won’t come.

Hope has left

the building,

the parts outdo the sum.

 

This poem is for

the clergy,

the prophets and

the priests.

Feed us like

you promised,

or make this calling cease.

 

The sheep have

bruised the shepherd,

the hens embraced

the fox.

It’s lonely where

I’m standing,

the one outside the box.