I Don't Think God Wants To Be An Ideology

I don't think God wants to be an ideology;

I could be wrong.

perhaps He wants to be a song

the multi-coloured riptide

underneath it all

the supra-golden hull

floating on the baby bubbled air

the thin ice we're accused of

skating on

(just to be near us in the everywhere)

or fresh baked bread.

a creel of star works, nimble

Engineer of dreams  that, then You may

fall into,,,everything! You made

some lapsed  summer berry crowned afternoon

or start the snows and feel the crystals

flitter round You at the center

cold as ice cream.  colder.

the wise the merry and the tender.

kaleidoscope molding Denizen,

shifting the stained glass as it shatters

so my wounds are fewer than they

might have been without You murmured our soldiers at the end.

oh without You what would anything matter-

the pull of swans that patch the winter skies

when they are broken.

the raindrop splatter, camouflage of tears

and years and years of Spring.

the carriage dazzling us home again

where we grow petaled...dear Diamond
at the center we can't see
without going blind.

 oh, I know what we'll be THEN
said children thinking they made it all up themselves:

(endlessly and endlessly, Perfume)-

the King's own roses

mary angela douglas 18 april 2014;rev. 16 november 2014