God isn't dead, merely old and ignored. Who now knows or cares that
     He suffers
From indecision, panic attacks, short-term memory loss, chronic fatigue
On chairs but insomnia in bed), despairing thoughts of insubstantiality and
(He looks up the proofs of His own existence in secret), anhedonia,
     boredom, aporia
And failure of zeal and nerve (He's attended anger-management classes
     for wrath)?
So He's often withdrawn and morose, very 'down', loath even to rise on
     these days
That grow steadily dimmer and greyer while ever more bright blaze the
     days of creation,
Of fire, vision, grace ... master plan and detail. All is boredom without
Might He settle for praise? He hears only demand and complaint. So
That labour, so wearing this leisure. So teeming the void and so vacant
     the world.
When did everything change? How could certainty fade? Where's the faith
     to go on?
So burdensome the emptiness of relativism . . . and so weightless the
     tablets of stone.

--- From Autumn Beguiles the Fatalist
Michael Foley
©2006 Dufour Editions
Chester Springs PA 19425
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