John-Ward Leighton


This gift
this life
God resides inside me
and outside within my view.
It resides
as pure love
and provides the feast for stomach
eye and ear.
It’s the soft touch of a dog’s ear
or the comforting sound of a kitten’s purr.
It’s the collective laugh
of what fools we humans be.
It is the hidden meaning
that we, perhaps,
are never meant to see.
This body,
this marvellous machine
we will not see its like again.
All from the same building blocks
all different, delicate and precise.
God surrounds me
and needs no fake miracles
this life alone will suffice.
I know nothing that is for sure
because we are here for such
a short time dear heart
and then we are gone;
Mere echoes on the canyon wall
or the drifting words of an unfinished poem.
We are here and it is real
and then suddenly it is done.
He came so far to die
from a roadside bomb
and is a flag draped testament
of futility
taken to the tomb.
The pointless sacrifice of a suicide
to see the face of God
taking the gift of life
from innocents
making a right into a wrong
the silence of the dead
speaks louder than what was seen or sung.
Our sense of loss:
grief ripping gaping holes
in the fabric of our souls.
We go on
to each his own
but we are not alone
we are what each one gives
in tribute to
the sacred temple
this life
where God lives.

This poem inspired the response, “When I Was God” ~ ©Copyright February 7, 2006 by Billy Willbond