Zero Evidence

There is zero evidence of God,
 he scientifically 
 dissected all that’s been disseminated, no evidence, so he has no basis, 
 to have faith. 
  
 A religion
 that meant nothing
 to his heart was mutated into love.
 I'll be with you,
 he softly spoke, 
 for a religion that means everything to you, now, means everything to me. 
  
  
 Though, if you could prove to me that there's a God, any 
 shred of evidence,
 would open up
 my soul’s wings to Him. 
  
 Approaching death, we're both hoping for a last chance miracle.
 Death makes believers of us all.  
  
 A whitewashed room
 with only a plant in a rippled, blue vase
 to remind us that there is life
 outside this place.
  
 A room full of pills, tubes, and machines we try to ignore, 
nurses forever at the door. 
He whispers he wants to be enveloped by my loving presence.
  
 I lock the heavy latch,
 not that it was so weighty, so large, everything's
 a colossal hill needing to be scaled. 
  
 I wait with you,
 only the faint tapping of high heeled shoes,
 down hallways where
 we heard the doctor's news.
 Snatches of voices from distant rooms disturbs the silence of our roles.
  
 ‘Til we both knew
 there wasn't time
 for future plans, 
 to softly reminisce, nothing to say
 to all of this. 
  
 I encompassed you,
 you whispered soft,
 This could be God!  This could be God!
 And you were gone. 
  
 You still fill my atmosphere with
 dreams and passages,
 secret messages
 only we who shared.
 And I wonder what he meant? Did he find God in death, or God in love?