Cynicism, And Hope

as i grow older my cynicism grows... i've grown tired of paper kingdoms & dreams that end with the taste of blood in my mouth. i do not believe that God lives in synagogues & churches, or in the exhortations of evangelists, or in the rituals of priests... or in hell-fire & damnation, the sword of judgement, the end of time, or in holy graves... i see God in the eyes... the eyes of small children, of homeless men beneath the bridge... in the eyes of young lovers madly lost in each other... in the eyes of the old woman dying in the empty house where she raised her children... in the eyes of the activist arrested & confined to a cold cell for believing in human rights... in the eyes of the addict whose life is lost in the hole of the memory that the needle fills... in the eyes of dead soldiers forever staring into the rage of war... in the eyes of those struggling to survive drowning in the despair of cold reality... in the eyes that stare at me in the night, & wont let me sleep without feeling... in the eyes of the dog lying faithfully at my feet, with no need to be anywhere else... who is this God? of form & formless, of light and shadow, dissolving, redefining... who's not always male, but often female! not owned, and not owning.... like the waves that carve the shore, & leave it nameless... (hungry for the footprints of human desire!) not aloof, but immersed, almost drunk with sadness & joy... not bound by dwelling or canyon, but as free as the wind that cant be spoken! do i believe? yes! madly! ecstatically! in life, & stillness, & even death! in the song that takes no prisoners, leaving dew in the parched grass... & in the Lover who opens & closes the door of eternity in the human heart...