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Slow Ascent


72 Virgins

A promise is easily broken

And yet men die for the promise

Of 72 virgins in the afterlife.

But they are really dying for

The quiet in their heads.

We are divided by our God.

Ruined by belief

Each of us a product of

The swollen, bitter earth.

It slips through our fingers

And we are buried in it

Returned to all that clay.

The earth goes on circling the sun

Spinning through space so exactly

Clocks can be set to it.

But look for God elsewhere.

What’s God in us

Is not God in other creatures

Not even God in God

What is God in us

Promises 72 virgins because

Such promises are never binding.

Close your eyes at night

And listen to the whispers

They are all you have.

Try to make a God out of that.

But God is a kite uselessly

Caught in the branches of a dying tree.

All that God is good at

Is keeping an almighty distance.

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Posted by Pearl on Jul 13 2010. Filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry
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