PICTURE PERFECT

PICTURE PERFECT

Picture perfect day, the sun hangs high above me,
In the early morning still, pretending that it loves me.
But soon to burn and blister,
Every miss and mister.
Sun of the Deist God my forefathers once worshiped,
The eagle’s talons have been weakened,
Its wings now pruned and clipped.
Believing in nothing but nature and its proud and brutal force,
We limp along, weak and injured,
Our small lives run their meager course.

This is where I break with you, founding fathers of this dream,
For nature is a fickle friend with diabolic schemes.
My god is not of the flooding rains, nor the monstrous hurricane,
But the god of kindness and good will, who walks amongst us still.

Picture perfect day, the sun hangs high above me,
But so alas do UV rays and polluted air to breathe,
This Deist God, this monstrous creep,
Tsunamis that murder while nations sleep.
You cannot be a god of mine.
My God lives inside my heart,
His body bread, his spirit wine.
And all his mysteries and his might,
Will be revealed in his good time.
My God is not of nature, not of man,
My God is a god of love, my God understands.
And when at last we are all called home,
And retrace the tracks on earth we trod,
The plan it will be etched in the rugged stone,
God’s footprints next to ours in this murky earthen sod.

Picture perfect day, when the blind can see and the deaf can hear.
When the mourners are comforted, in their lonesome song of tears.
When I can walk without a limp, and speak without a hitch
When the carpenter comes back for me with his canvas and his cross-stitch.
Picture perfect day, when the whole world stands in peace,
When guns and bombs are laid aside, when war and hatred cease.
When the eagle is silenced by the sweetness of the dove,
When the world alas awakens to the Beauty of His love.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED