We have brought this upon ourselves:
This virus, this egregore:
This cult of individuality.
Our right to die and bring others with us!
Truly an inversion of full potentiality:
Others live so we may make right.
The Sun shines on all, says the Teacher,
And vanity blows among its rays.
Like a mask covering a face, so the individual masks their community:
The community devoted to the rite of self-absorption and absolute dismissal of the Absolute
that is the ground beneath us all.
In the guise of a serpent, pleading to be left alone,
like the man behind the curtain, pulling the strings of our poem,
like a talking donkey, kicking us down the road,
this power and principality wants us to become I and all to be you
so it may survive another day, sacrificing us at the anti-altar
of death and decay.
No blood will flow – no life to be seen -
growing and growing, spreading its seed:
From west to east,
by the forces of materiality
and powers that be.
There’s a certain irony to it all:
We must as individuals overcome our idiotic being -
rather, be captured by the wonder of the other -
and come to the altar fully experiencing
the body and blood of the Other
fleshed before us, drawing our eyes
toward the gaze of an other.
Copyright © Christian Guild | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment