I do not believe in anything but I wait for a sign, no distinctive movement for the decent, the concerned, the worried, those who lie awake. Feeling helpless at what to believe, the sky, the sun, are relentless every hour. The torturers come the media, the propaganda, and millions of mistrustful beings, tied to the cult of self. The Egyptian female obsession with the Cleopatra look, body distortion beyond any sense of safety or reason. The decent amongst us lie to our children and say it will be alright. Whilst they fret at what to believe coming from clever British politicians, from the same route and mould. But do not worry ordinary people will be back and maybe the lonely and vulnerable will find a friend that will make them live for another day. Amongst this world’s illness and grief your God will indeed come through the clouds and absorb your panic and dissolution, Amen for now, but not for ever more.
