It must have
to have grown up with
a God that looks like you.
It must have made
for interesting Sundays, listening to
words someone like you pronounced
long ago in your voice.
Must have been enough
to make your every current desire
feel like a holy command, every heavy debt
a wound waiting for redress in your deified heart.
Now people are pushing
new pictures of God,
claiming God has a different voice,
a long-hidden Word.
It’s must be hard to imagine
that all your throne years
might be coming to an end.
What now for you? Right now,
sitting there with your fists
balled up tight, your eyes
rolling rage, you look like someone else —
yet somehow, still very like you.