The night has fallen into old habits
Like bells that no longer need to ring.
If God exists, he wears a lot of hats,
If not, he seems to still know how to sing.
I think he doesn’t but believe he does,
My mind at war with words that fall
Like hail to rattle coffin lids and bones,
My skull and brain, so empty and so full.
The night begins to lead me down these paths
That circle round a mirror in the dark.
If God is love, then I will bear the wrath
Of love and build a bed to ease my ache.
If not, then I will still ascribe to sleep
This house and promises I’ve tried to keep.


  1. Anonymous says

    Good poem.

  2. Jonathan Webb says

    Good stuff Rufus.

  3. Jonathan Webb says

    …But, I think you might need psychoanalysis.

    Tell me about your mother.

  4. Matthew Lickona says

    Well now!

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