Poetry Everyday of the Year (and more)

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Thursday, June 2, 2011

Beneath the Sky, Above the Clouds

Heaven we are told, is there
way up in the sky above the clouds
But having flown high in a jet plane,
way above the clouds, my eye
never fixed upon God in his throne,
not once did I see angels by his side,
nor did I cast upon my dead relatives,
not even the saintly ones.
When I was in small school,
the school small children go to,
we were told, one and all, that
God was everywhere, an all knowing Dude.
He was Big Brother, before George O. let me know
that such a thing was pure evil.
Somewhere between the words of wise and wacky,
I figured it out - no one really knew -
the sky was metaphor - code for above us,
which was code for better than us, which was code
for a lever with which to control,
for what better way to do this
than to say God told you so.
Now I sit beneath the sky, yet my mind is beyond the clouds,
or so I am told - I see God not in the judge's chair
nor do I see God in the jailhouse floors,
I see God in the mirror smiling back at me.

©Frank Coughlin June 2011

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