An Atheist Facing Death

by on June 10, 2010 :: 0 comments

Shadows running from the scorching light
the world a lantern parade
we can only run in circles;
staying still
we evade the light

I long to express the intangible;
the unborn, the unmade, unsaid.
To form my heart into a womb
for the unborn;
a still point that transcends the space that enfolds it.

The whispers I wish to hear are yet to have been spoken, are silent,
beyond substance.
Such ecstatic sighs ? that remain just out of reach lingering in the wind,
howling screams unimagined, uncreated.

I hunger for the inexpressible;
to craft this silence into words.
To glimpse through the bars of this prison cell.
To speak the illusive and inexpressible.
To pin down these inner silences
That tear so at my being;
Locked in silence
Each of us must hold
This loneliness to our chest.

So I write, and my poised heart cries out,
as it strokes vague longings
intangible resolutions
that move through my experience of succession.
I look for another way
to hold reason and passion in tension.

To an outside that is beyond my grasp,
this outside that is inside me.
Inarticulate it moves beyond my grasp;
remaining beyond me;
Sitting outside me
There in the world
That beats inside my chest.

Unresolved contradictions crowd in upon me
as I look towards a dark horizon
where shadows juxtapose dissimilar images
erasing the known.

These images intertwine into frightening shapes
forming reflections that are not one but many;
tearing myself from myself
I know this pale future laughs at my futile attempts
To avoid knowledge too painful to face.

Searching the world for beautiful metaphors will always be a self-depleting process;
What I find there is only insubstantial shadows;
Words and images
merely a woolly rug to place around the self;
something to protect against a cold unbearable contingency.

Though is it because I search only for the how of? things?
Should I simply take delight in existence;
that something exists instead of nothing;
that the World is?
Love is the mystical made manifest.

And it is true at night in the darkness
under star light, and delicate moonlight
there are certainties;
encircling arms, embracing touch, the warmth of breath;

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