Not Mine! Poem by Paul Andrew Bourne

I watch the idea develop
through infancy
taking turns in growth,
development and maturity
a master piece of an art
that I allowed nature to
determine
while I search through the cracks
I saw nothing, no me in time
and marveled
at the artistry of a process
designed by a lesser make
caught in a web of no genealogy
I wondered my wit
so simple
all guile, no remorse, no apology
where was I in times past
lauded for my contribution, not
not mine I declare
Not mine

The preacher
the preacher bellows
thine hand is in the art
its make is different, its structure is far gone
from the men of old
I saw nothing of the past in the preacher's words
we knew the truth, the truth was not hidden
but the preacher declares innocence
I long for the preacher's guilt
but a role she played not
what arise was the craft in deceit
instead of what is
Not mine, not mine I yell in the present
Not mine,
the future speaks but the preacher denies
God shall smite thee for your conscience
Why, why a preacher so brave
and God is used for the bigger cause, deceit
as He knows
it is not mine, not my art form


Can a fair God sits, listens without an outburst
He knows, He allows the craft of the art
and in peace He offers pieces of information
no finality, no truth, just suggestions
I marveled at His silence,
did He take the other side
the preacher claims God's will,
in silence He takes the blame
and the preacher praises Him openly
for what, for what I seek answers?
But the preacher marches on with God's praise
The deceit multiples with time
and no God defends is honour
why the silence?
why the hypocrisy?
does the preacher knows God's stance on these things?
Does the preacher knows He will be silent, silent as a lark
I wonder, if this God is of times past
as He speaketh not in these day
He allows, everything, nothing, something, and everything
multiplied with exponential powers
Yet He knows not mine, He knows and keep silence
Not mine, why the silence
when He knows it is not mine

In a cloud of ambiguity
the lie is expounded
as the art prepares for another transition
I see it blossoms in time
I dislike what is, not mine
Mine in silence, not mine in truth
while the preacher's God keeps his silence
is there a sexist make to this God
as I say the process transform in mine eyes
yet He keeps silent, the preacher say thine
and her God knowing the truth
keeps His silence
Not mine, not mine, and You know
It is not mine, not mine
and I will die knowing not mine as mine
but it is not mine
the art is highly price in the present
but the preacher's God knows it is still not mine
not mine

By Paul Andrew Bourne