Our desolate rock

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about one perspective regarding our existence. Please R&R.

Submitted: August 17, 2012

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Submitted: August 17, 2012

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The sea in which you weep into is far too vast for me to set eyes upon, Dearest Master.
Yet those gentle waves that lap into my cupped hands do give me some relief, as I think.
Think about how sad we really are upon this desolate rock, which crumbles only when we chip at it…
with a chisel you have blunted beneath your glistening fingertips.

Oh, what are we when we laugh, in your face?
Or, a secretive chuckle shadowed by the overpowering force of our fear.
Yet, do we not fear your love more than your wrath?
Is there no room for passion in our carved little hearts?

Of course, despite this, we do try, Oh Patient Father.
The seeds we grow do bloom into fragrant, iron-plated master pieces…
that chink as our spiked glares fall upon them…
reflecting blinding shapes that rise up and shield your gentle sky from our ignorance.

But you must understand, for our frustration does destroy us and we are nothing but monsters.
Monsters…only beneath the red sky. Amongst cruel vines that creep into our sanity.
And sanity is meaningless when nothing really matters.
And still, you let us weep over a pin-prick to our heart.

And the curious stars that accompany you while time sleeps must laugh at our rebellion.
With happiness, maybe as they wink at the fair ones who care to raise their crooked necks to look up at them?
Yet, when you kindly refuse the stars sympathy, what do you do?
Do you smile or despair…when you watch the few darlings who attempt to dab away your ocean tears with their charred handkerchiefs.
Or have you closed your eyes completely to the world forbidding you to see?


© Copyright 2017 Lottie101. All rights reserved.

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