My God

my God is just around
like a friend who reads my poems
in the midst of his professor's lecture
on oil pipes and cracking chemistry
my God is silent
like the glass sculpture on my desk
my God is patient
like a blank paper on my table
my God is filled with possibilities
like a pen ready with its ink
my God is forever
like the series of green hills
extending an infinity of my thoughts

my God!
i am tired, i am overworked, and i am always late.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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