Thursday, 4 August 2016

Soldier buried beneath the red sea:

When the red sea crashed
my children of the future
became lost in the non-being of never-will-be.
Washed clean
by water held back and then released
yet I,
a soldier forced to follow or starve;
driven down the bank to follow the Israelite -
am I less than the slave,
should a god decide my fate
by changing theirs?

Or is that the essence of faith -
that fate decided
will not erase your fate
in the slate cleaned by the concealed
hand of a god playing dice in a hall
with other gods great or small -
the bones of future children (as well as the present circumstance)
the chips passed around
in this game of devil-may-care betting
between beings unseen?

Or is it that the gods are no more
than echoes of the genetic twining
wishing to forestall its own demise
by creating future strands and in this copying,
as our blood courses through artery and vein,
we hear the voice of  the true God?

Do we pretend afterlife knowing the death
we must embrace
means some of us lose the race
towards procreation and to appease as all,
lest it be us in particular that fall,
we enchant ourselves with the possibility
of reaching that lofty and eternal hall after the moment
when the red sea stops flowing and the pump falls still?

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