God and I

Inner meditation with the Universe occasionally provokes mild insights.

So there we sat

God and I,

and not a tree in sight.

God, he asked , 

do you believe 

It is I which is Light?

It's not a question to be asking

to child who knows like I

who has not the mind nor the reason

to attain that perfect eye.

Logic and deduction, I said,

tell me you exist;

but what if you turn to be phantom?

Ah, the tales my devils twist.

He looked at me as you would that child

that was dancing on the bough,

as though he never heard no truths,

was unsure how the story would go.

That thing, that unsurprised

entity of not-yet-to-be,

that pin-point everything

that became you and me,

in words like lung-failure

it responds to to all who know,

not to caps, and braids,

and where that f*****g cross

should have to go.

He asked me:

If I show something,

will you take a vow to not say a word?
I agreed with utter gratitude

then I screamed from rooftops

never to be heard,

Never to be heard.

Reviews

[Kathryn]

I like the last three lines a lot. I can imagine something with a lot of emotion there. The rest is interesting, took me a few times of reading it to get anything. Not a bad thing. Just is.