The Creation of Truth
The Creation of Truth
In the beginning . . .
Vacant bodied I waited
unaware of the night,
for the light had burnt with age
and in this darkness he comes.
Hazy eyes strain to see a blinding glory
blazing through diamondless sky
humming crackling voltage
deciding what is good enough to be had.
Warmth floods into unrealized depths
dreamy heart feels undiluted sincerity
honey dipped words falling,
unlimited potential and old world valor.
Something is awakened.
Gravity cannot contain thought,
floating airily to angels ears
their worry cannot contain the growth;
tomorrows push unrestrained
bearing a future pregnant with promise
as the past is skimmed away.
Idolatrous lover becomes the centre
filling life into the emptiness each morning
until my magnetic core seeks him
leaving fanatic longing when he departs
I wait, knelt in the night
for the divine breath of life.
I begin to hear strange cries.
Cloaked in darkness there are others,
hovering lovers casting shadows
dimming his beautiful blaze
and also waiting to be filled.
Made in His image to rule the wild
consumed with high domination
creating a tangible self-worth
bowing animals to undeserving knee
with gentle whispers and cruel lashes.
Obedient beasts we surrender.
On the seventh day . . .
His work was done,
cemetery of the broken
and he saw that it was good
leaving to rest.
|