God Sits There

God sits there, brooding,
eyes open–bored.
Yes, omnipotent,
yes, omniscient,
but compassion has faded
in disinterest.

How long could you, o man,
watch an ant hill?
An hour?  A day?  A week?
A month?–surely you jest!
Well, perhaps somewhat longer if
they could speak.

So in what tongue
should the ant-men
call out to God
to be heard?
English?  Latin?
Hebrew?  Arabic?
Aramaic?

Perhaps we must use
emissaries to the higher plane,
flaming souls whose dance
will draw the eye of God,
our best, our brightest gone
from here before their time
when we still needed them.
But how many must we send
and lose
to rekindle act and interaction?

A thousand years in Thy sight
are but a day.
We need another minute
of Your time.

Distraction

God has been a distant Father,
often withdrawn, distracted,
for He has been in mourning for eons
since His Partner in the act of Creation
died in childbirth,
for They had not thought
the Universe would be so big.

Ant-God

Do ants need a God
bigger than themselves?
A beetle, or a mouse?
Or a man?
Perhaps an anteater
would suffice,
if they must be winnowed
as much as we have.

Time-out

My chair is turned round;
I face into the corner,
ignoring God in the rest of the room.
I won't speak to Him,
I won't pray to Him,
but He will listen to my heart anyway.
I just want Him to do something,
to embrace me despite my wiggling
like a two-year-old.
But he must re-embrace the world,
fix His fallen Creation,
before I will come out of my corner.