Sticky Pearls in Godless Worlds II

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

The God is dead,
snuffed out by light,
on that the scientists are right;
But remember
the only fact:
is nothing is mere black and white;
Magic it lives,
in smells and sounds,
it ricochets between the ribs
of star-crossed love
in sweaty nights,
and parts headwinds of hearts’ first flight;
it opens up
the crusted eyes
of two bodies at the same time.

Most magic is
mistook mundane;
the warm frisson of a first kiss,
But dead gods hide
in things divine
the smooth dimples ‘long her arched spine;
They’re evidenced,
in confused smells,
pillow-stuck hairs and morning-breath;
That magic hides
between the cracks
in battered thousand-year-old pots;
And dancing pearls
amongst the rot
in the centres of deep sea clams.

So ‘til death I,
an atheist,
will still sing praise of starry nights;
Will gaze upon
in disbelief
the symmetry of every leaf;
Will perplex in
the shades between
opposed reason with sheer delight;
Seek solace in
it’s nonsense consciousness exists;
Open your arms,
let bruise your heart,
baste sublime between light and dark.



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