Godless

A sonnet in the style of Jessica Powers

The priest empties as everyone’s gift

The good wine last, to our exclamations.

All other words then are mere complications,

As when I, for instants, follow these drifts:

“I would be god-less when god was a word,

A bargaining chip, a means to divide,

An idol behind which my anger could hide,

A concept on replay, a toy so absurd.

I would invite god-more, knowing not how;

I learns its blesséd lesson there, in stillness,

False selves displaced, proud dreams turned to air.

And there, though confused and bruised near despair,

With single common thanks in my wilderness

Partake (all questions, none) the wine here now.”