God Sleeps in Paddington Station

God sleeps in Paddington Station
On a damp and smelly mattress
Outside the toilets
Now barred for want of 20 pence.
He keeps warm
By wrapping himself
In yesterdays news,
Yesterday's celebrity gossip
And thought for the day.
 
God sings in Kings Square,
Show tunes
For busy shoppers
With no time to stop or listen
Just scatter change
Into an old cloth cap.
He sells his body and his blood
For a cup of tea
And a doughnut.
 
God cries and weeps
For her dying child
While the bishops feed
On Royal bread
And Royal wine
With Princes and Politicians
Pretending to care.
 
God bangs his fist
On locked church doors
As the rain soaks
His meager rags.
God bangs his fist
And cries for the wasted silver
On the grand altar.
 
God dies in doorways
In back streets
And back alleys
In a pool of blood, piss and vomit,
Murdered by bitter youths
For a handful of cash
And a quick fix.