"God is dead, and we have killed him, you and I!" *
Nothing stays. Everything dulls.
There is sparkle. Moments, hours of life.
But nothing stays.
The rest seems duller by comparison.
It was but 3 days.
It is in my mind I said.
The cold. The distance.
All in the mind.
The awkwardness.
To start again.
Restless pacing,
Closing rooms.
Run. As far away as you can.
“Quick! They’re here.”
This moment. This very moment.
I hear laughter.
Who was it?
I turn to find no one there.
It was all in jest,
But I remember.
Dismissal is not easy,
Forgetting a relief rarely found,
What forgiveness then?
Words words words words
Is there no escaping them?
Free falling.
There is no such thing.
God is dead.
Will prayer help?
In letting go
Can it? Can you?
Help me?
Tell me?
Implode.
Eyes eyes all around.
Looking. probing. Demanding
Retreat,
Not heroic.
Turn in.
Cease.
Ring a line around.
A fossil,
Trapped in amber.
I cannot move.
Everything marches in a straight line to death,
Ceasing.
People spewing out of homes, buses, cars,
Revolting.
All busy, everyone with somewhere to go.
Something to do.
The bell jar* shuts
The last breath escapes
The eyes close
As if it never was
* The Bell Jar: Sylvia Plath
* Nietzsche: Thus spoke Zarathustra
