Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Aftertaste of Explanations

The machine of mind
          hums brighter now
I cannot hear its
          high-pitched drill.

My prayers are automatic now
          - the clock, the keys, the glass.

Our comfort God asks nothing but
          to serve It like a woman
And drop the petals of my soul
          upon Its black faux-metal
Without a trace of will or
          pause of doubt.

I finger news,
          thumb-wrestle sports,
                    push pictures for the weather -
As if I was betrayed by trees and grass
          for turning yellow.

The older Gods said "shh" inside
          vast honeycombs of texts,
For knowledge was a secret then,
          a sacred thing that blessed.
Now all that humans grasp and know
          is just one more addictive pull
To keep the wolves away
          outside the fire line.

No limit on how
          empty all this
                    striving for the
                                             can be.
The truth
          - the me that I've abandoned
          for fear I'll be abandoned -
is undisturbed.


J.P. said...

I'm guilty. Between Rhyann and me, we have eight things that go on the Internet. Oh, the First World.

erin said...

apathy and indifference, far more terrifying than any active fear.

seriously, so so seriously, we are past the tipping point. we lean (in our ignorance, arrogance and greed) toward our extinction in so many ways. we have willingly traded places with our tools. now they reign and we are tools to them, tools of commerce (in all sorts of guises). that's it.

there might only be the possibility of small pockets of humanity any more. the rest has been amalgamated and converted.

and we proudly call this progress.

but i see you see. (and so i wonder how it is you live to hold onto your humanity. and are you contagious?)