Exactly.
What about God?
What is it now?
What is it always?
If no God exists,
It itches.
If a God exists,
It creeps.
If none of it bothers,
It hinges.

What, then?
What about God?
If I were to write
Whatever I want
Whatever I desire
What is it really about God
That exhausts and tires?
What is it about him
Uncompelling. Uninteresting. Undesirable.
The power?
The tantalizing existence?
Because he hides even when he exists?
Because he manipulates and ghosts?
Or is it because he intimidates
Without really saying a word?
He never communicates
Not in a straightforward sense, anyway.

It’s not hate.
Nor is it spite
It is a matter of fact
A way to think about
A mere wonder to fret.
What is it, though?
What is it about God?
That itches. That bothers. And that creeps.