The Pineal Soul
When my father fell into Parkinsons,
He also fell out of God.
Month-by-month, a little less able,
Month-by-month, a little less holy.
It took some time for me to notice,
This sense of something odd,
But he stopped his hymns and stopped his hopes,
As he sank to silence slowly.
When it came to planning his wake,
When we both knew it was soon,
He showed a mild disinterest,
Where he once was so devout.
He hadn’t, I think, had a long dark night –
He hadn’t changed, but hushed his tune –
As if his soul had sprung a leak,
And faith had trickled out.
So is belief just a bunch of neurons ?
Is God just a ghost in the genes ?
Or does it take an untroubled mind
To think beyond the ev’ryday ?
When my father stopped his praying,
Was he lacking now the means ?
I guess what caused that small still voice in him
Had slipped away.
This poem is in no-way about my actual father. Do not assume the I of the poem is really I.
Rhyming Couplets 