Ponderings on Church Bells

The bells ring
At the village church
Reminding me
With guilty start
That there are
Things I should
Be doing
Not lying
In bed reading poems

And smothered
Reminders of
Other guilt pangs
Because I hear the call
But I ignore
And reject the childhood
Years of Sunday
Best and twicely
Visits to “God’s house”

If he is not a myth
I doubt he dwells
In man made boxes
With stupid rules
And fakery
Which claims to be love
But tastes of judgement

If he is here
He dwells in hills
And trees and mountains
And breath of sky
And feel of air on skin
And in the invisible
Sensation that some things
Are meant to be