The Priest

28/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



The priest sat looking out the window,

Long since retired from preaching.

His bible sat on the table before him,

Unopened over these last few days



He knew it back to front,

Could quote any passage from it.

He’d studied all the stories

And could recite sermons from memory.



He wasn’t sure when he’d begun to doubt

But it wasn’t a sudden revelation,

Coming slowly over time

Like a stalagmite growing within him.



He’d lived his whole life as a Christian,

Taking the lessons very much to heart

And trying to live a good life

And an example to his congregation.



He didn’t overindulge in drink

And counselled those who did,

Organising places in support groups

Or finding accommodation for those in need.



He didn’t believe abortion was an option

Except in the most extreme of circumstance

But forgave those who saw no other way

And offered them a place in his church.



But over the years he’d noticed

The increase in those of not faith,

Not just a migration

From one religion to another.



He saw that they were good people,

Not the monsters he’d been led to believe,

And wondered how a just deity

Could send those people to hell.



He heard them question his brand of belief

With logic and reason and grace

But what they lacked was an ability

To believe, to rely on just faith.



The idea that someone might be comfortable

Not knowing the answer to it all

Stumped him on many occasions

And he realised that he didn’t know.



There was no solid evidence

That would pass muster in an historical text

But he had faith there was something out there

Even if he had no proof.



The doubts that had crept in to his mind

Were of a more specific kind –

Was the god he felt in his heart

The same god he could quote chapter and verse?



He’d heard of a woman admonishing her husband

When he was lying on his death bed

For not praying hard enough

For the cancer to be taken away.



He’d read about all the clergy

Within his religion and others

Who committed terrible, vile acts

And never saw a day in prison.



Somehow the idea they’d be punished

In the next life by a vengeful god

Wasn’t as great a justice

As he believed the victims deserved.



How could he have dedicated his life

To an organisation so corrupt

That they would not just turn a blind eye

But actively cover up those evil deeds?



He could not shake the belief

That there was something more than this world

But what it was, and who was there to meet him,

Were shrouded in mystery.



He would go to meet his maker

Whatever he might find

And if that maker was simply make-believe

Then that’s where his story would end.