What Thoughts Arise Poem by Peter Hans

For shall I sleep,
so much like a sloth,
under the sky.

Heavens above or do stars deny,
the presence of god who most believe,
watches and waits for us to leave.

Leave a world greedy and cruel.
Filled with wrath, no, there is no rule.

No rein of divine power that resides above,
no watcher of souls, nothing but space,
and a glutinous black that will never die.

A space that surrounds us, forever to lay,
infinite and massive for all on display.
Though we are small we think pretty large,
envious of what we see, hoping to be in charge.

Priding ourselves on what we don't understand,
because we are small, because we are man.
And so I say unto you in my own little way,
believe what you want don't listen to what I say.

Because what I believe shouldn't affect
those who do, those who reject,
the idea that we are left to fend for ourselves.

Yet if you do believe then I ask you to ponder;
a questionable thought that may lead you to wander.

Maybe God did not give you choice,
perhaps there is no free will at all,
maybe God gave you sin to watch how we brawl.