I Question His Existence Poem by Guinevere Eveleigh

A key lost in the snow,
returned to me as good as new.
Should I attribute this finding to you?

The house is vacant and alone
apart from myself in its rooms, but still,
I speak to air as if it cares.
Is this the wonderful work of you?

When I cry soft, soundless tears in
the merciless void of the night, I
feel your transparent arms holding me still.
Is this the gentle soul of you?

When I speak to myself I don't feel
all that mad, and when I'm recluse it
still feels like someone's lending me there
shoulder to lean on. But in a world where
science is king and faith a needle in a hay stack.
Should I keep believing in you?