A poet once proclaimed
that the idea of God
was too much
for the young to grasp,

that they were lacking
days lived
or dreams lost
to carry the concept
of a divine being,

that the immature
were more likely to mistake
certainty for truth
and that truth for a faith
that God would bend for.

Now, I am slowly seeing
the wisdom of reserving
sacred speech
and steeped silence
for life’s second half,
finding myself less interested
in being right about God
and increasingly at peace
with the way life
presents itself;
that being,
a bittersweet ballad
of everything’s longing
to belong.

It would also seem
that well-worn eyes
are better at seeing
God’s outstretched arms
hold all these longings together,
with love.

‘Longing’
David Tensen