Thursday, April 5, 2012

The Dark Room

It's hard to see these rolling hills
or quicksilver rails as myself.
I file the houses down to size
so they can't overwhelm the nothing
I know of me.
I'm afraid to look at the sun
as where my heart is
and the words on the page as the trace
I left behind.
My worry that God isn't seen
is just my unwillingness to see Him,
what they call "lack of faith,"
the reason for wars and hunger
and the outlines of indistinct things.

2 comments:

Hannah Stephenson said...

Conflation and inflation. Overwhelming nothingness or overwhelming presence.

You do a lot in these few words here. I think it works so well because you begin with the "I" and move (swiftly!) outward...

Hannah Stephenson said...

(And thank you for hearing the irony in my recent poem).