Psalm For The Unsuccessful

even if you bind His hands and feet

and nail His forehead to the starry skies

you still won't own Him.

He still made the clouds, the suns, the ellipses

maybe you were over-proud to discover

one by one

through it took you centuries.

and is it an ivory word to say out loud-

a priceless one,

with a bounty on its head that

He still lives; abides your line of questioning

in the too brightly lit auditoriums

and where the velvet seat the velvet

ooing over the supermoons?

His torn angels smile, so used to it.

and in His green shadow of a shadow's fingertip

infinitely flourish

whole multitudes of those you fed a watery soup

ladling it out and with arched eyebrows

from the golden crockery you

had made for yourselves 

mary angela douglas 15 july 2014