Wednesday, March 17, 2021

Thank me later


Many think I’m crazy

Am I really?

I merely record moments

and paint punctiliar seasons

like the tree I see here and there,

the one planted along channels of water.

What I feel, I bleed out,

scratched onto thin slices of its innards:

Pain, trouble,

confusion, certainty,

embodied and at peace

in mystery and glorious favor.

There’s more to life than facts and physics,

making math reality.

My systematics are securely obscure,

like millions of pounds of rain,

floating above a desert

and I don’t care when it drops a tear,

or if it ever does

because the dead are raised,

the impious destroyed,

the living reign with us

into the ages of ages;

and there is not a God damn thing anyone can do to change that.

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