Maybe there's a loving God whose vision - grand, sublime,
and merciful, beyond our scope as mortals bound by time,
accounts for every single soul
to find some refuge, safe and whole,
some reason and some rhyme.
If all we get is eighty years, it's best if some are spent
in meditation over all the blessings He has sent,
like what a lovely Deathworld we are fortunate to share -
but only with our neighbours,
not those brown guys over there!
Maybe there's a God who thinks malaria to be
in any way compatible with folks like you and me,
its purpose wholesome - humbling -
and not misguided fumbling
by vicious deity.
If all His favoured children can't be seen by naked eye,
it only follows sanely that we're born and bred to die
the hosts of tiny parasites, from cradle cap to grave.
Think of all the protozoans
one small child can save!
Maybe there's a God who wants tuberculosis spores
to propagate in every lung - yes, hers and mine and yours!
Perhaps it's best we cough and wheeze,
because it keeps us on our knees,
which surely he adores.
If that's the case, and "He helps those who help themselves" is true,
burning down the Amazon must be the thing to do.
Surely he won't give a damn how many tribes we kill.
It's what loving God would want,
for all must be His will.
Maybe there's a God who thinks it's really rather cute
when we one-up his body count - and overshoot, to boot!
Our greatest token of devotion:
oil-anoint the wine-dark ocean,
zealously pollute.
If all that's left within the jar is Hope, not having flown,
we don't need holy problems; Heaven knows we've made our own.
Maybe there's a loving God whose love looks more like hate.
So what, if there's a loving God?
we can't afford to wait.
Iron Noder 2019, 3/30