|
Thomas
by David HillI heed the doctrine of God the Remote.
Daily you withhold your many blessings
shower us in silence, keep us guessing
confound us with those words you never wrote.
Bathe us in light from your indifference.
Toss us an idol who shouldered the blame
molded in plastic, a symbol of shame.
Never manifest to walk among us.
Have you forgiveness for the faithless?
I offer my brothers an unclenched fist
never betrayed with a fingering kiss.
Is blind belief the virtue you most bless?
I cannot condone what the others are touting,
thatÂ’s how it is when your first name is Doubting.
01/11/2008 Author's Note: A shaky, rickety, and most bitter sonnet, missing the meter.
Posted on 01/11/2008
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/13/08 at 05:33 AM You're much braver than me - I lose my courage every time I think of writing a sonnet. Your theme is a good one and I like your last two lines very much. I also like the first line - that word Remote just brings up all kinds of things about our society and beliefs. Thanks. |
| 