Little Bits of God

I called the man who taught me God father
But he was not a priest
Not an ordained one at least
But still he lectured and lead men
Abandoned souls he did defend
And I sat beside him for enough car rides
That he made it clear where God resides
So when I cradled that baby in my arms
When I did what little I could to shelter her from harm
I knew I was holding God against my soul
I sang little rhymes in a language she would never know
I cooed and danced I hummed and I bobbed
I tried to give her back what humanity robbed
And as I circled around the room
I saw more little bits of God trapped in that tomb
And in a judicious sense of mind
I sought to more evenly divide my time
I tried to put her down while she slept
But from her mouth a fierce cry leapt
And though my flesh remained whole
Into my heart her voice stole
The pain raged through me like a filthy fire
Compelling me to fill the child's desire
Then sickness took me like a plague
forcing me to yield to what she did beg
So I took her up again and the cry did cease
And on her face rose a look of peace
Then falling sand did call me to depart
But before my exit could be made one last scream did she impart
and though I left the room with my prayers said
The sound lingered in the dark corners of my head
So I yet see her minuscule body wailing in her bed
 I recoil as though she could strike me dead
And I remember what that man taught
Then without a second thought
I devoted myself to the scattered
Because outside of those tiny pieces of God, nothing else mattered