God

 

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

The purity escapes, is hard to grasp

Unless you do it with your handless soul.

The purity escapes.  No latch or hasp

Can hold it since you know the unseen whole

Is waiting for your mystic heart to seek

It with your greedless fingers which belong

To metaphysics.  God is far too sleek

Because his love is like a soundless song

That plays forever just beyond your ears.

He does not seem to have dimensions, front

And back, escapes our paradoxes, fears

And spirits, crying everywhere we hunt.

  Since utter, God is ever, never tame.

    He moves like washed-ink breezes in a frame.

Phillip Whidden