Colin F. Jones
THERE IS A GOD
There is a God, though from where he came
Is not so clearly etched upon my brain.
I’ve seen him not, nor know his real name
Be it my ignorance or my honest shame.
His love, like fire, is left for me to light
Or leave the flint cold without a spark
For what I see is circumscribed by night
Where lives pale light to define the dark.
To light a fire would falsify the glow
Already faint in night’s definitive cast;
A light that I might sometime come to know
As one from God made to ever last.
Thus who can know who was not taught to feel
Lest from another he but falsely steal?
©Copyright May 17, 2001 by Colin F. Jones