Our Father

My religion teacher looks at me though kind eyes 

wrinkled around the edges with soft creases of weariness and shielded with glasses to help his impaired vision,

his blue eyes are filled with more clouds than a thunderstorm;

ever moving clouds of judgement, storm clouds of conviction, but pure white clouds of faith.

His lips say the words "God is our father."

His eyes agree, but the flashing clouds add "so why haven't you accepted him?"

God does seem to be like a father, in fact he seems to be just like my father. And that answers the question of why I won't accept him.

See God has that same immense anger as my father,

wrapped in the cloaks of "love," which are artfully draped to conceal it. Striking down lightening in a rage, smoting people for the sins of being human is all too familar too me. 

See God has that same conviction as my father

this unshakable belief that he alone knows right from wrong, as if the world were a chess board each decision a perfect square of black and white with his children as the pawns.

See God has that same technique as my father 

the one where he uses fear to make people listen

twisting that terror into your gut like a wrench until its screwed tight and his word is the only law you know.

One father is more then enough to accept,

when everytime I say "Our Father who art in heaven"

I can't help but think,

Why isn't mine in hell?

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