The Tears of the Gods

Read this less as a denunciation of divinity, more as a celebration of life.

Wispy clouds trace a spidery trail across a moon so bright

that it appears to be just a hole in the sky that the gods could watch us through...

 

imagine them up there; these mysterious, ethereal judges;

as if measuring our flaws could stop the truth being told.

So many look at forever as if they are seeing gold;

worshiping the idea of warmth even when their bodies are freezing cold.

Though a paradigm is now shaping; imminently seizing hold;

healing the bruises on our souls as the story unfolds...

 

...dimming the divine glory until the tears of the gods commence to pouring from the heavens!

 

...a raging storm, thunder deafens...

 

but pay them no heed.

 

They speak mere hasty condemnations that read as confessions of fear;

facing demons would seem to be a more familiar thing to a god;

but all bets are off and all laws are broken when it becomes known

that the infinite cannot even tip the scale when weighed against mortality;

beyond the pale, in between the subtle shades of grayscale lays blossoming color;

the essense of life, crossing streams just to get to the other side;

 

what a beautiful idea.

 

Like Prometheus stealing fire for the mere sake of illuminating the darkness;

though if all is night, which direction should the light be cast?

Of all the aspects of being, choice is the hardest...

 

...and consequently, should also be the most cherished;

 

this dim glow of awareness.

 

Like the candles flickering flame, it gives hints of bigger things;

 

bigger dreams.

 

If one were immortal, it would all be the same:

the pleasure and the pain

the sun and the rain

the faucet and the drain

creation and destruction;

 

everything reduced to a formulaic function that masquerades as truth,

proclaiming the blame as the proof! and it very well might be reality,

though it still requires challenging by fleeting/living/dying beings

possessing the incredible gift of momentary perception,

allowing everything to be so (pardon the cliche) f*****g beautiful...

 

...giving empty hands clues to hold so that ledge can be grasped

and insight can be reached, one step at a time.

 

Something that even these glorious gods cannot attain:

they already have everything, so they have nothing to gain/nothing to lose;

they are everywhere at once, so they can never fill another persons shoes;

they have no room for perspective, no prospect of doom to provide them direction;

they offer salvation yet cannot be saved; they know nothing of wild temptation nor fatal mistakes;

all of these impossible decisions that accompany this rambling path from cradle to grave;

unable to laugh, unable to rage; at the feast, LIFE occupies the table, the creators sit in a cage;

self-imprisoned because they never knew nor could have imagined

that this world they had made was truely alive:

 

THEY HAD THOUGHT IT A GAME, THIS LIVING TO DIE...

 

...but then clay became flesh, opened virgin eyes;

witnessed the universe, decided to give it a try;

and then... then... then it was finished, and finally said goodbye;

now not even a ghost; just minerals and dirt (swept away as the dam bursts);

the gods whisper that it is criminal to hurt, identical to sensual pleasure being a sin;

 

how the f**k could that be anything else but JEALOUSY?!

 

SO NEVER BE AFRAID TO FEEL!

 

Never hesitate to taste the peel of forbidden fruit;

right before biting through to juicy core;

you may never get a second chance because the gods are desperate, fighting this losing war.

So NEVER HESITATE to dance with variable fate, and LIVE to DIE another day.

Your burial will patiently wait until the time arrives

to take your hand and walk by your side through the misty haze that lays beyond the light fantastic.