The world was grey like a canvas washed with rain,
My spirit dampened, where joy was a distant flare.
Each step was a struggle, burdened by the strain
Of doubts and fears, a soul adrift in a nightmare.
But then a whisper as soft as summer breeze,
Stirred in the depths like a flicker of light.
And hope was a fragile seed, began to please,
Pushing through shadows, yearning for the bright.
Wonder why black or white isn’t the only option?
Why gray became a choice?
Why sitting on the fence became acceptable
When the fence was meant to divide, not cradle?
Time, man’s greatest ally,
And perhaps his worst enemy.
I suppose it depends which side of the fence you’re on.
Time blurs things,
Until you question if they ever were.
It creates illusions so vivid,
You think they’ve always existed.
It heals old wounds
Or tears open new ones.
It births both the best memories
And the worst.
Do any come to mind?
For crying out loud
Due to the outcome
I was not particularly proud
For more than two centuries, election days go and come
At a similar season, every four years
This time, there were plenty of wows and tears
Of disappointment, heartbreak, anger, anxiety and sadness
And the other half was full of glee or happiness
Such is life. Politics is a dirty and unpredictable animal
No, America did not die. Things are normal
We’re still talking about immigration, liberty
Freedom of speech, and of course the economy
These heretical poems on the subjects of God, religion and Christianity explain why I “left” the Religious Right.
If one screams below,
what the hell is "Above"?
—Michael R. Burch
Religion is regarded by fools as true, by the wise as false, and by rulers as useful. — Seneca, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These are prayer poems by Michael R. Burch, along with a few hymns and hymn-like prayer poems. There are also poems on the subject of God and religion—the Christian religion in particular. In my youth I wrote some devotional poems but my later poems tend to be heretical, after in-depth study of the Bible revealed things unworthy of decent human beings, much less a perfect deity.
I Pray Tonight
by Michael R. Burch
I pray tonight
the starry light
might
surround you.
I pray
each day
that, come what may,
no dark thing confound you.
Springing, seeping,
Waters flow.
Lithely, floating,
Autumn glow.
Waxing, moaning,
Harvest sky.
Closing eyes,
Sorrowful cry.
These are my modern English translations of poems by the Russian poet Alexander Pushkin.