Poetry-Blasphemy

They call you LORD.
The way I see it is
You mock me mercilessly
Like a second-balcony heckler.

Too far away to understand
The garbled epithets you hurl
But close enough to hear
The audience's laughter.

So many people try to tell me
How great you are, how loving
But why create me impermeable
And so prone to blasphemy?

I try to be a good girl
And in all ways be worth your boon,
But in my way I'm born to sin
And in my descent gather following.

They call you God Almighty
And mighty your judgment falls.
But good or ill, I'm on my own
In discerning what fickle fate holds.

It would feel good to trust you
To just let go and let you.
But I have had a hard daughter's day
And don't need another father.

Why not "God the Lover"?
At least that I understand
For divine fingers hooking my heart
Might make me a believer.

And in the cushioned nightfall
When you've got me godly gravid,
Heavy-seeded, I could forgive
And call you my immortal beloved.

(c) Stacie Ferrante
11-10-08