Reflections on existence (work in progress)

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Master
Senior Member

since 1999-08-18

Posts 1867
Boston, MA

0 posted 2001-01-16 02:24 AM

January 16th. I’m home-sick for Autumn.
I sit by the desk and out of boredom,
reflect on existence, on being immortal,
on God, which I’m lacking, and on God
which is present. The latter -- my own creation,
the former I have destructed. Imagination
has led me to have a long conversation
with the conscience that flows in my blood.

“Religion is opium for the people!”
If that’s so, then how come the peep hole
is not wide enough for the needle,--
and by “needle” I mean a warm ray.
Not to say that I have a lot to offer,
but I welcomed the Holy Spirit often,--
each night, I left all the windows opened,
no one came and now, some say

I’m unholy. I’ve read many sermons,
many hymns and gospels and now I’m certain
that I’m with Nietzsche, that life’s a burden.
If I was God, I would also abandon
my creation and let it spin in its orbit.
I’d hide my existence and take the forfeit,--
who wants to play king when life is morbid?
But I don’t have faith because I stand on

my own two feet and that is quenching,
I despise afterlife and the idea of aging,
and what’s more I just hate changing
in order to be labeled by others as “right”.
If others jumped off a bridge, I wouldn’t follow
I choose not to believe in death,-- it’s hollow
and not because “it’s too much to swallow,”
but because there’s nothing to bite.

I’d find liberation in mere existence,--
the alarm clock resounds to start up my pistons
and no matter how short or long a distance,
I travel gladly. What can I say? I love living
and that’s why the question that bothered Hamlet,
does not give me headaches. I happened
therefore I am. For breakfast, I love the omelet,--
and the lack of such pleasures leaves me grieving.

------------------
Check out more of my poetry here:
http://www.unknownpoets.com/db/authors/master

Poeminister
Senior Member

since 2000-02-26

Posts 1862
Regina SK; Canada

1 posted 2001-01-16 02:44 AM

"I choose not to believe in death,-- it’s hollow
and not because “it’s too much to swallow,”
but because there’s nothing to bite."

Interesting reflections in this pensive write. Well expressed thoughts.

Poeminister

"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet."
-Plato

Ethan Halo
Senior Member

since 2000-04-28

Posts 793
on the roof again

2 posted 2001-01-16 03:33 AM

"i wa thinking of the immortal words of Socrates who said 'i drank what?'"

nothing to bite indeed.

life is what you make of it. if it is a burden, you must find a way to lighten the load. but that's easier said than done. i know.
absolutely tremendous write.

You don't hear much about guys who take their shot and miss...

Ethan Halo
Senior Member

since 2000-04-28

Posts 793
on the roof again

3 posted 2001-01-16 03:34 AM

forgot to put this in the library... hehe.

Master
Senior Member

since 1999-08-18

Posts 1867
Boston, MA

4 posted 2001-01-16 10:16 AM

THank you both, I blame this one on insomnia...

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