God paradox

Here is what I cannot fathom:
If god is all and evermore
why would he follow
any treasured church?

Why would you
love a god to fear?
trust a god indifferent?
or be guided in his whispers?

If he is and has been
source and architect
why assume he means
a plan that is for us?

I conclude he either:
is bright and refuses the altar;
smites hence deserves no power;
or is not but our will to follow.

In any case, I am free
to be the best version of me
for the sole purpose
of earning my sleep.

A star is born

When huge amounts of mass
are so tightly compressed
becomes so dense
that it starts to burst.

Heat reaches values such
that the flames possess
the ability to generate
new elements from scratch.

Years of light traveled
to all corners of the universe
will delight our sight
in a simple shiny dot.

A child reaches up
pointing to the black veil
where a new spot
brightens the night.

"Look a star."
Then runs to measure
its height and angle
the color and texture.

She blinks back
nice to meet you too.

She has a back bone like none

(Allpoetry image prompt) 

We have all been scarred by life.

Some wear these in plain sight,
they display them in soft sobs
feed them as spicy cookie crosses
and blame them for the tortuous
ways of the lines in their hands.

Some cover them with colorful tunics,
the playful patterns dwell over raw meet
skinned by this melodic charade
of gardens of puppies and kittens
and over sweetened honey teas.

Some stick hard to the bones,
like vines on the worked stone
of an abandoned Victorian house,
the body grows mapping its grooves,
a Gardner's Siamese surgery.

She?

Before the first air stole her cry
her mother shirked at her hold,
what demon had tricked her whom?
The mother drowned in apocalypse now
while her first step got her closer to the door.

Her words as she took to it:
"there is no space in tight shoes
for feet to grow."
And she planted them on her own
on the hardest ground she knew.

She wore now the tattoo on her back,
an uneven waterfall of lumps
that jumped rope her spine childish,
as a testimony to the sturdy scalpels
and the coaching overload of nerves.

The story it told as I traced her naked lines
made all other women shrink
to barbie dolls in dream houses
and her lips had to teach mine to breathe
just to keep me from crying.