poetomachia

The one who names us and calls us
Out of nothing
Has he a sense of dignity?
Creating gods
Pathetic against the odds?
Calling him back to create some more
Like a leaning tower
Threatening to topple,
But never to do so
Only presenting the perfect pitch
To an elegant experiment?

It was a beautiful day
One of those February days that could have been cold
But was like summer instead
Summer without bites and noise
Just peace
And comfort
And Sun
And Blue

In the evening I sat on a chair and noted the clarity of the sky
It was a little orange at the edges
And a voice spoke through me,
Out LOUD
And it said
You are part of creation
This is temporary
You are eternal
You are ridiculously victorious
You are loved beyond measure

Only you can win my heart
Only you can give my love a start

breathe deep, peace sleep
sweet dreams, into bed

My own difficulty in coming present to my need
Shuffling around under the weight of

Come and cut these chains
It’s more than the scars that remain
A sick gray wish
That weighs on my brain.

I thank him for my name
And for my function
And for my absurdities, my oddities, my me.

I thank him for the truth
That whoever hates me, reviles me, judges me, forgets me, is bored by me
Is not me

Audacious, controlled and controlling
The gods make requisitions
Pacing invisible command centers
Turning knobs, flooding our malls and screens
Burning holes in every head
From each quiet outpost.
Their large bodies are confident, glistening, demanding awe.
Patient.
Open our eyes to their power and presence