Worship

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Here’s a poem I wrote long ago that kinda jibes with the photograph, “Faith”, I recently posted.

Worship

The dark, divided minds that dreamt those sullen gods we no longer love make us disbelieve the lineage that mirrors the many to the One. Glass fragments litter the floors of mosques and chapels, but they were stained on old Olympus–blown for the Pharaoh from Sumerian sands.

Dying ideas reborn and re-bred: oaken totems. cave paintings. tattoos imbued with divine might. a still-beating heart. your lucky rabbit’s foot. ancestral shrines. science. Untouchables crowd shallow graves, and relics rot under displays. Behind Buddha’s temple, the boulder rolled from the empty tomb lets out the long-lost Sun.

But they can’t pray your thoughts clear like water. They can’t hold a miror to your soul. Your molecular essence flows simple, cold. All your own.

So drink and mind silence. Breathe, breathe. See you are what you seek.