Friday, 9 January 2015

An Atheist's Grace

An Atheist's Grace

The grace I know is
We will be forgotten

Like sandcastles
Even the very beaches

The closest secrets of our hearts
and the furthest reaches of our imaginations
Are separated by little more
than comes between one second
And the next

In the final end we will have changed nothing
For good
or ill

In this we are blessed


Poison Myths

Myths become poisoned
Like water

In the ghetto of Gaza
The Jews shoot children

If life
Means less than an idea
Then that idea
Is poison

There are no chosen people
Only choosing people

We must own our choices
And let the voices of history
Be heard

But not the voices of hatred

The seeds of horror
Fed with blood
Blossom everywhere
Ghettoes in Detroit
Slums in San Pedro Sula, Caracas, Acapulco
Echo with gunshots
Bleed from knife wounds
Cities founded on the land of others
As gold and oil and religion and fear
Mean human rights fall
On one side
And shells on the other
Or fire
Or swords
Or guns
Or poison
Or gas

For centuries this simmering stew
For millennia this cauldron of bones
Chokes the living
with the roots of the dead

I can feel the grave worm inside me
Like despair

We must hold the living
So easily damaged
With tender hands

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