Our Father
He had confident safe hands.
I wanted hands like that.
The knowing hands of a man
Who knows how the world works,
And how to fix it, when it doesn't.
For he is the one to fix things,
Who knows just how to turn
So things open into his palm,
And how to re-assemble to set
Our small worlds going again.
Watching how those safe hands
Can so easily rebuild for us
And how even our small thanks
Can seem so insignificant
Compared to what those hands do.
Maybe that is why the gods
Were invented as creation's fathers.
Putting the world back together
When clumsy child-like humans
Stumble, and it all falls apart.
Requiring only our humility
And head-bowed silent learning.
To perpetuate the illusion
Of some meaning and purpose
In a world built especially for us.
But there comes a time for growing
To turn from searching for lost fathers
In the empty skies above our heads
And to teach our own children instead
Of how this universe works and turns.
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