When We Buried the Gods

Epicurus asks what God's good for

When silent starlight rains upon the midnight of thy face
But thy heart contains no vestige of belief,
The fires of a million stars vanish without trace,
In the gloom, the grant of unction lacks relief.

Would thou have a life in which thy faith did have no part?
Where damaged vitals strove for every breath?
Where demons stalked throughout the empty chambers of your heart
And thy soul throbbed as a vulture robbed of death?