nathanael.ink

i’m not as angry as i used to be
with age, some say,
perspective comes
my view of a world
twice removed from me
fleshy weak infant souls
cast into the same old
recurringly foreign world to me

i’m not as angry as i used to be
at the satan
and the demons
and the god up in heaven
doing next to nothing about all of it
except writing stories
about what he could do
if he wanted to

but there is a sidewalk for chalk art
and a mountain of love in our hearts
friends, the few alive, still visit me
if i scream they hear me from hades
when i dream they see
my entire life ripping and rebuilding
and the veil’s final cutting
will i be
will i be alive to see?

i held hands
with them feeling love /
where did it go?
Sam Amidon and my swollen tongue
i can’t say what he’s saying
however hard i wish
for that to be what god is like
i’m happy to worship them
if only in gratitude
for the finger tips of leaf prints in the man-made mud
I am not as happy as I once was
about all the the man-made mud
that god says belongs

we just hold hands until one of ours goes limp
and we start again