God

I remember
when I was a child
and we would go
to the temple
of stone and glass
and sit in a quiet
reverence
while being told
of the gate-keeper
to inner-soul wisdom--
the magic syllables
that would unlock
a Paradise as of yet
unattained

In the pews
faces filled
with the grey-world
of brow-sweat desperation,
Ears dulled
to the calls of Heaven
by the hot-iron battles
of innumerable factories,
Who had forgotten
the sun's soft touch
or the feel of grass
beneath the feet

After the sermon
had ended
we would pile back
into the car for
the trip home,
where I would
rid myself of
the confines of
Sunday clothes
and go and let
my mind follow
sun-filled creek
downstream
to the place of
worship--

Ears filled
with whispering pines
and sky's blue-eternity,
The lightning of illumination
opens my eyes--
what man can put a
name on God?

Heaven
starts
where words
end