come join me
come join my tears
come see the world as it is.
come join me
come see despair in every corner of the world.
cry no more, for you are yet to join,
tears are ours,
tears are everywhere.
Come see pain first hand
technology will not prevent the torture at our hands.
We are inconsolable
We are replete with regret
as we dip into hell, past heaven’s gate.
Lord save me, though I do not believe.
But once, just once, prove you know the total despair
Wreaked on this earth from those who dare
to use your name to justify the horror
the suffering of generations to come.
Once I thought that being childless was sad, but now I know this is not so
That I did not endanger another
Nor contribute to the misery we are inclined to.
Look at me, my years unfolded
Long life I wished, one time I thought
Now I know, somewhere, not far, lies answers
To end now is the only answer
To stay a manifestation of a lie.
Insidious is this sorrow
So many tears to shed
Though laughter fills the air instead
This sorrow weighs against my chest
To live a life filled with regret
That tears can never stop the tide
Of sorrow walking by my side.
Racing to you. So fast time is nonexistent. So slow I fear I will never reach you. So I am here, a temporary place of rest, biding the eternities till you are in sight.
Willingly I continue, past fields of flowers, pastures of grass, Dresden in ruins, London in flames, Jews’ bones scattered across the earth, gypsies impaled on the cross, Blacks eviscerated. I turn my head.
Nothing. Into nothing. Out of nothing. See nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, touch nothing and nothing touches you. Is this death? But I am awake. Not alive. Are we still talking nothing? Nothing is knowing, knowing all or nothing. A meaningful cliché. You know it all, I nothing.
I know not who I am nor why I am nor where I am nor by the grace of God I am. Nothing. The word encompasses everything. And nothing. Did you wake to read this as I write?
It is nothing.
Find God in funny places; under the bed, under the carpet, in the carport, hanging from the ceiling. Take care where you vacuum. When I first found God hanging from the ceiling I was inclined to call the police. I thought it was suicide, I mean, how often had I heard “God is dead,” and here was living proof, right in front of me. You’d think the light fixture wouldn’t hold him. But he must be light as a feather, because as I untied him he spoke so softly I thought I was imagining it, saying “I am not dead. This is only a test.”