No sun has come undone,
As no moon was found unclean.
Under the watchful eye of Being.
No God was found wanting,
No Spirits questioned…
Nor was the sea too shallow,
Nor the desert too dry.
No deed of beast was too base,
No will of rock too hard,
Compared to the inexorability of the judgement passed to Man.
For, the scrape of Light ,
(that will let him live a little longer, so he can die a little later),
is hard and elusive to get…
as if it was a prize,
as if it was good…
A bounty for the worthy!
Not the least of our expectations.
It’s to this sad feast that we gather in the millions;
Like mongrels too stupid to see the difference between the carrot and the stick…
Biting everything and each other,
beneath the discouraging soul-gluttony of the Lord.
For this, and more I ask you…
His not Man’s lot
A cast lot?
Is not is his destiny an answerable riddle?
Were we not singled forth?
Is not our being darker than death?
Is not our dying clearer than living?
Are not these the voices of reason?
And to answer these questions…
Only blind hate against the living,
And a strong mistrust towards the dead.
This self righteous anger,
Speaks in the ever expanding riddles of science,
Drowning in the flood of the senses,
broken and confused…
cumbersome before the incumbent task.
Sense and Knowledge one,
before the ever thinning twine of unknowing.
Trying to remember the Word before Self came in.