PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

. 

They told us in Sunday School

that God was good. Okay. So we

believed this. Then they told each

of us that America was Beautiful.

We believed that too. The rest

of the world stopped mid-stride

ethnocentrically aghast at

the exclusion of millions. We

were given no information about

other countries until the hour

of absolute confusion arrived,

sometime before death

and after college.

.  

They told us the Devil was too lovely

for Heaven (always written with

a capital H and we believed he

(small h) challenged authority of

three deities and we believed that

Hell was below us and heaven above

on an earth that, they told us,

turns.

.

Too beautiful, the Satanic Principle

was cast out like a fishing line

on a well practiced pole. Well, for

all and that, we are innocents,

naive, and clueless and the Gods

chuckle at us probably. The God-like

portions that are human laugh inside

us as if the joke was us.

.

Tell a human anything and they

will believe it and it will grow into

a faith so strong wars will kill

countless children to prove

it has a right to exist as real

in the heart, the soul, the ever

defineless ethereal beauty called

faithfulness. You gotta see the humor

in all this. You just gotta laugh

at yourself, and at all of us, whatever

we tell you we believe. I believe

in magic and miracles, wine

and water. Go figure.

.

And God created it all and is infinite

as time, no true room for humanity’s

problems and joys, actually. If I was God,

or a god attribute, I’d go on vacation

and smirk a lot about humans, the

way we do about our kids and our

grandparents. Creation myths are funny

things, after all. Commedians have

field days, in private, and some

on stage with no respect. Sort of

like poets with overly ripe ego

structures.

.

Approaching the Pearlie Gates (aka

Paradise/Nirvana) that are constructs

someone, probably a man, divinely

touched or schizoid, heard and

wrote down for us to believe hundreds

of years after the original vision.

I wonder too often, if Heaven is below

and Hell above…surprising the dead

as they are born into another

place without a clue. Confucius

is confused. Confusion is nit

a death principle.

.

Our mentors and old pastors 

and Holy Heads of our institutions

where God lives (so they teach us), sit

on clouds somewhere, swinging

their feet, sighing, “Another

one I did not teach well enough.”

Sacrilegiously promulgated, I posit

Heaven as here. It’s not original,

it’s not older than, oh Eve or Muhammad

Buddha, or Baal, but hey, this breath we

hold close forms the concepts

called us. After all, we are all we have

for now.

.

Lady A

01-20-13

1:00a

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