Dear God: The Poem I Almost Wrote to You


Dear God,

I was going to write you a poem

Something pretty, with rhymes and rhythm

about how I won’t do my quiet time today

because I really don’t have nothing to say

I believe You’re good, I believe you’re fair

I believe You’re kind and always there

But I’m never so weary in my heart and mind

as when I’m trying to reach the divine

On this birthday-eve, I would much rather

enjoy myself than search for an invisible Father

After busy days I find myself needing

some alone-time in bed, quietly reading

Make a snack, do the laundry, get my room clean

write a blog article, pretend to be wise and witty


But I think, dear God, you must have thought me impertinent

For carrying out this simple plan I faced such challenges

My internet is gone, because the wireless adaptor broke down

In the common area people are partying, and I had to lug my laundry one big round

Late at night, the music is booming loud

while I sit in my room, trying to block out the sound

Tomorrow is my birthday, and as it seems

the first thing I’ll have to do is go down to the IT shop, for an exchange


That’s not quite the loveliest way

to start this most special-est day

So it seems, in the end

I’ll have to resort to an alternative – talking to a distant friend

Someone who eludes me every time

yet as recorded oaths upon oaths, that He is mine

So, what’s say we meet again?

my dear Father, and fleeting Friend

I’m not exactly willing

this feels like a forced meeting

But Gentleheart, if you will it so

Let’s meet and converse

For just one day, I’ll incline my soul



If reading this you feel compelled to comment

that this girl is terribly impudent

Then I ask you to pause and understand

that I mean not to offend either gods or men

I know not how to perform spiritual feats

Nor write in a way that is discreet

I am but a silly, empty-headed child

But I do my best to grow, and to smile

If you should hate me, I would most certainly cry

And since it is my birthday, I ask, please be kind.

“We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble”

– Emily Dickson


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