The bad news is, no throne above,
No bearded king, no distant love.
No voice of thunder, no hands of clay,
No god out there to hear you pray.
But wait—before despair takes hold,
There’s Good News, both bright and bold.
For God is not a shape or name,
But every spark, each breath, each flame.
In you, in me, in stone and tree,
In waves that crash upon the sea.
In time’s embrace, both now and then,
In all that was and comes again.
Not far, not lost, not cast apart,
But pulsing in your very heart.
So seek no more in sky so blue—
For God has woken up as you.
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This is simply beautiful, Bryce.