God is my ceiling when I speak aloud at night;
God is the voice I call my conscience when I cannot help but be uncertain;
God is the clouds in the backdrop of a busy species working to an undefined end;
God is the pillow fibers that soak in tears in times of trouble.
God is my floor when I decide what I do is right;
God is the second thoughts with which I dive into deep ideas that don't end;
God is the ever-present reaper haunting those who to afterlife ideas don't listen;
God, themselves, their cities, will turn to rubble.
God may not be real, but I wouldn't care.
Only self-assured I'll be, but peace is there.
