Is God stone
A statue
With stone for eyes
And an open mouth which does not move?
And a pock-marked stone skin
Beaten by the weather of ages
And praise and supplications
Sent heavenwards
From our soft lips.
And in his mouth
Fixed, unmoving,
Are crammed the things we would make him say
Like empty boxes piled up in the opening of a cave
Or slips of paper with scratchings of words
Screwed up and jammed
Into the Western Wall
As if by doing this we make Him speak.
What is God exactly?
How does he interact with us?
What is the function of prayer?
How did we come to be here?
I see the evidence all around me
But I don't hear His voice.
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