~ Alan

Do I believe in God?

No, I don’t.

Why not?

Well, for a start,

The universe is 13.8 billion years old.

Or so I’m told.

Time enough to make

A decent job of it,

For God’s sake!

And has He?

Give me a break!

And then they say that God created man in His own image.

Well, if He did,

Why did He make such a mess of it?

And not just a mess of us – the human race,

But of zillions more like us

Out there in space.

Unless of course they’re better than us,

And we’re His Pigs in a Poke,

His rejects,

God’s little joke. 

Far-fetched? Well, maybe.

So tell me, then,

What’s  it all about?

Why are we born?

Why do we die?

Do you know?

No?

Nor do I.

One thing I am certain of –

God didn’t create us.

How do I know?

Because God doesn’t exist,

God forgive me for saying so.

Though I must admit

I’d prefer it

If He did.

Why?

Well, without God

There’d be no future,

Only the present and the past.

Meaning the day I breath my last

Will really be the end,

Which makes death very terminal, my friend.

So, come that day,

I’ll go quietly –

No other way to go

For one who dares

Deny the existence of God –

With no complaints, no recriminations,

And definitely no prayers.

Well… when I say definitely…

There’s always one chance in a million,

Or in 13.8 billion,

That I could be wrong,

That I may not be the right singer,

That this may not be the right song.

So on my final day

I might well say

A quiet prayer,

Rather than risk losing face.

Just in case, you understand,

Just in case there’s someone there.

© 2020 Alan Fenton