The fifth draft poem for Matthew Sweeney's Guardian Unlimited workshop, and quite unusually for me, a poem that overtly deals with issues of faith, proof, and belief:
Gently disintegrate me
into this world, Lord,
when I am gone,
disperse my soul
and spirit from the flesh
of my faithful form
to the far corners
of this earth – wind, sea,
sky, earth, make me
one with the very atoms
and quarks of this universe
that people waste entire lives on;
debating whether or not
you are the ultimate source of. For
when I am the very same
as the trees and clouds and rains I see
before me, Creator, that,
I think, will be proof enough.
Gently disintegrate me
into this world, Lord,
when I am gone,
disperse my soul
and spirit from the flesh
of my faithful form
to the far corners
of this earth – wind, sea,
sky, earth, make me
one with the very atoms
and quarks of this universe
that people waste entire lives on;
debating whether or not
you are the ultimate source of. For
when I am the very same
as the trees and clouds and rains I see
before me, Creator, that,
I think, will be proof enough.