Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Tossed in the wind like the oak branches

Tossed in the wind like the oak branches
battering the old window, thinking myself
higher than any teacher, then thrown about
like a tired ship in a merciless tempest.
Cast like a joke into a secular nonsense
ignoring meaning, imagining that I rule
this broad path, that I'm the lawgiver
launching myself toward a good object.
Yet the heave of thunderstorms is beyond
my understanding, the abject absurdity
of a world without god becomes apparent.
The fictions of an individual cannot
be where I place my trust: the hereafter
is the authority that governs my way.

1 comment:

  1. What do you mean by "fictions of an individual"? Deliberate fictions (lies)? Independent judgments? Something else?