PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Seems everywhere that I was sent,

to every town and country side I went,

I saw these roadside signs, "Repent!"

But, I asked, to what intent?

Is that all that their "good book" has to say?

Nothing about how to survive my day,

or even how to appreciate

this mortal body and its fate?

No, nothing but these words they vent;

you've seen it too, "Repent, repent."

I think their faith is sort of bent.

Where is God in an accident?

Why does he let our joy be rent?

But all they say he says, "Repent, repent."

This night is dark, the air is cold;

water is flooding every hold.

And God?  I say he is not here,

because I told him to stay clear.

None have the privilege to dictate

my attitude, or destiny.

In that, I shall be reprobate.

But still, it is not right or fair

to be sentenced for sure to die

by that damned iceberg way back there,

that shortened my life as it floated by;

like a bad comedy.

Yes, I told God to stay away,

and he abided by my will.

I do not know, now, how to pray,

so I shake my first at him, still.

Why did he turn away?  Why did he slip

me on to this damned iron-wrought ship

that could not take a simple dent?

If only signs, "Repent, repent."

would reach to me.  I am alone,

and I will sink just like a stone.

Oh yes, God sent me more than just one sign;

but i was drunk on human pride, all mine.

No Bible ever weighted on my book shelf.

No power was ever greater than myself;

except, well, one---that welded steel

when breached, cannot float.  That is real.

And now this broken ship will cast me down,

and in the ice cold water I will drown;

and neither ship nor water give a damn

for me; or who I could have been; or am.

I have left only this true, God-less panic;

it is a fact and coldly real.

This is not way that death should feel

as I sink on unsinkable Titanic.

Perhaps it will suck me below---

it plunges fast, and not that far to . . . .

Starward