Finding God

The God who was
is not the God who is:
that God is dead,
slaughtered
by the insanity
of humanity.

Where are you now, my God?
My God, my God...
The cry of a mother
who lost her child
My God, my God...
The cry of a child
who lost his mother
My God, my God...
The cry of a God crucified
who lost himself.

Where are you now, my God?
Is that your face I see
in a beer glass...
in the roots of a tree...
in me?

What kind of God are you?
A delusion? A dream?
A home I can run to
when the fire falls
and the bombs explode
and the bullets scream
and the blood flows
and my tears stream,
never ending,
down my face?

I fear, my God,
that I shall never find you
unless you first find me.