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finding God
the souls of my ancestors are angry
they were telling me inside my nightmares
the souls of my friends are worried
the mouths of my living acquaintances are angry
the priests and mother superiors
the church layman are impatient
with my quest that why at the age of 49
i still confess
that i have not found the way to God
i confess my doubt
but i am not at all the infidel that must be burned at the stakes of disbelief
i have seen all of you
entering that wide and gold-plated doors
all ready-made by the Church of Rome
i have seen all of you march boldly on that wide and steady road
of Dogmas
all prepared by those in Authority
like an instant coffee
inside my heart i still look for that narrow road
via the check-points of suffering
i have seen the bleeding blood of martyrs
decapitated heads, thorns on their heads, crosses with dead bodies
still hanging,
i have seen the tortures and the beheading
of the saints
i have seen the angels without wings crying for justice
that way, i am heading,
and this way, i am having a hard time understanding you
My Lord.
poem
by
Ric S. Bastasa
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