I don’t know if there’s a god
Or if there’s only one,
Or if god created punishment
Or god created fun,
Or if god has a flowing beard
Or the breasts on which mankind was reared,
Or other qualities just as weird
But I know that god’s believers are greatly to be feared.
We live on a lonely Earth
In the vastness of cold, black space,
Where trillions of creatures have taken birth
We know of no other such place.
Where the inconceivable mystery
And complexity of living things,
Feel the slightest changes of season
That our annual journey brings.
And Earth sails on at a rapid pace
Yet it feels like we’re sitting still,
Sixty-Seven thousand miles per hour we race
As the sun slowly sinks o’er the hill.
The wildflower marks every minute
As it faces the sun all day,
Content to simply be in it
As Earth sails along on her way.
My ancestors followed the sun
At Tara and Bru na Boine,
And as the best astronomers have done
They knew what the sun was doing.
When to plant and when to harvest
By the waxing and waning moon,
When the world was wide with forests
Too sacred to be hewn.
And their holy days marked the solar path
The Solstice and points in between,
The fires at the Faerie Raths,
Imbolc, Beltaine, Lughnasa, and Samhain, our Halloween.
No one knows what they were thinking
Was it science or the earliest mass,
Or something to do while drinking
Or chasing a comely lass?
If we lived in a humble cottage
At the edge of that sea swept shore,
Would knowledge return in our dotage
And our memory live once more?
But it’s gone and more’s the pity
Like the Indian in the woods,
While the White Man from Eastern cities
Wrote down the final words.
About the blood thirsty savages
Who had no regard for life,
And excused their own greed inspired ravages
As divinely ordained strife.
Has paradise gone forever
Paved over with steel and tar,
Will we live in harmony never
With the world that we have marred?
Have we truly left the garden
Exiled to speed and stress,
Might the Earth herself grant us pardon
If our grasping might grow less?
Could we witness ineffable mysteries
And like flowers gaze to the sun,
Without the misguided ministries
That rally the sword and gun?
I awoke in a tipi this morning
As the sun shone in at the door,
The meadowlark raised a cheerful note
As light crept across the floor.
Perhaps god is a giant clock
That measures the universe,
Not for or against us, not in mock
But a blessing and not curse.
Is it enough for lowly mortals
Simply to be amazed,
To gaze through the astral portals
Is it sin if no gods are praised?
And is not the greater sin
For the sake of a god above,
To kill our own human kin