Not his light…: A poem 

My Mum was intelligent, but she read only a very few books 

My Dad was creative, but he didn’t read any, not even those for cooks 

But they had a simple altruistic wisdom, was not out of fluke 

They chanted for all, with beads in their palms, even for the crooks 

We learned to love immaculate Mary in litany, hymns and psalms 

There was not a single Sunday without mass and the trance 

of ornate icons in the Church, stained glass, all exhibited for sight 

And with fervent prayer we greeted each safe and secure night 

Mum and Dad, would I have displeased you if I told you I had no faith 

Conviction is no moot point; it is a bone of stone with weight  

Your beliefs couldn’t convince me even though I knew my life was yours 

There is no water that is holy, even if blessed and called sacred and pure 

The priests didn’t impress me, though for you they were God’s knights 

You know now in spirit my resolution’s flight was pure insight 

I can’t debate the issue, with believers, of my being wrong or right 

The craftspersons of my salvation are my life and deeds, not his light