At the News of God's Death
When God died
My tears fell on my ink-stained hands,
And askance they looked at the pictures on the wall.
My soul fled through the window cracks, Away
Toward the trees,
Where she danced
With the fallen autumn leaves,
And sang with the wind of liberty and joy.
Then she met my spirit who
On her walks through the world,
Sprang from the earth, fell from the eaves,
Shed many a tear, sad in mind, coy in heart.
They spoke of life, time and the past;
Wept for deceived, deceivers, shearers, and reapers of blood;
Yet they laughed, for they knew
It could not forever last.
Then they remembered the future in their pensive words;
Cried tears of hopelessness till
Their tears turned to red,
And fell sick and heavy
On a desolate desert path.
Dolour, Sorrow, Joy, Knowledge and Pain
Sat in their midst,
Fought and bled
Till their shapes disappeared,
Vanished under the sand,
And my soul and spirit were left
Empty, bewildered and aghast:
Many a question answered
But many a meaning fled.
And when Life came to them
And wondered at their state,
They prayed her look, leave, live away.
Today as I err alone through the woods,
I can still hear them breathe quietly by the stones;
But their faces are hidden
And their thoughts are blighted, blown and torn.
Their presence lingers
But their power is brittle bones.