Rock Writers’ Guild

I once thought love was going to save me;
I am no longer convinced anything is.
I live in fear that my last breath will find me
hanging by my fingertips to a God that can’t exsist.
Don’t desert me!  Lord, if you desert me I’ll be back
to not having any answers, to groping in the rain,
to standing in the emergency room with no bandange,
no morphine, no gloves- nothing for their pain
but an entirely inadequate love.  I am furious
with the church, with myself, with the pastors;
every book on the shelf copyrights The Answer,
but they are all, none of them, the same!
My only confidence is that I must never be
confident.  Pride sets the toe on the bread on the mud,
and we sink swiftly.  I have no ready response
to scoffers.  I can only offer this: if any man
in history can save this stinking place, He can.