Cash Machines In Walls Poem by Paula Puddephatt

The seasons still revolve.
Night melts into sunrise.
We endlessly evolve.
Truth punctures lies.

We gaze towards the light:
A faith that is restored.
The dark is also right.
Our rich reward

Comes in all shades and hues.
All is from the same Source.
We search so hard for clues.
They’re here, of course –

But maybe not where we’re
Expecting them to be.
One day the fog might clear
Enough to see.

Religions are access
Points – cash machines in walls.
It’s so hard to assess,
And all those rules

Make it so difficult
For many to conform.
The emphasis on “fault”
Makes us feel torn –

Inadequate, at best.
We try to understand.
Sometimes we need to rest,
Heads safe in sand.