poetry by j matthew waters

and on the seventh day

I could have had religion
but I wasn’t born that way

imagining unable to give life
no longer a god
the ending materializing

but that’s not how the story goes
perhaps it’s all the simplicities
that makes it so complicated

children are raising their hands
to be taken into space
away from a place
that maybe makes sense
one out of every seven days

december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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