Riddance

Riddance

The people who would laugh at me, and call my God a wraith,
Seem very insecure, frankly, within their lack of faith.
They sneer and snark so smugly, and betray their marked despair.
They act so very ugly from their fear there's something there!

I don't know why it bothers you, when my God helps my grieving,
If what I read and think's not true, why mind that I'm believing?
Is it because I keep my creed, which you are not perverting,
That you feel still your own soul's need, and fear you'll be reverting?

God always will believe in you--He does that since He made you.
You think of God, and prove that's true, but play out this charade.  You
Act as if you're truly wise when, despite all your shrieking,
The people whom you so despise are not the one who're freaking!

You can't leave others' faith alone, it's proof you're insecure.
It bothers you that YOU have doubts, while we are much more sure.
The fellow who's instructing you, you should know, is a liar.
And when you do what he says to--you can't preach to the Choir!

That is, I think, what bothers me, beneath the sneers and screeching:
Why, if you know much more than we, are you so shrilly preaching?
I think you find the calm of those who still believe beguiling.
While you lash out, trapped in your woes, you see us calmly--smiling!