O God, in whom the rest believe,
Why do I feel only the lack
Where others honestly retrieve
Hope, guidance, light within the black?

I have tried to know You, the plaques
Upon Your house speak of your love
And of your omnipresence tracked
By every soul, and every loosed dove.

I can not shake my judgement's hover.
The others have faith, they convince
Themselves it true, but I'm not their brother,
And in Your house I've felt not welcome since.

I am left to make my own world, and find value.
I am no Übermensch! But "God is dead," sadly true.