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Inconsolably Empty
once upon
my waste of time
strange I felt
my hope, my crime
I wander, I groan
smashing clay household gods
inconsolably empty
bound by steel bundled rods
fire once in the belly
but no true wars to wage
a one act redemption
small story, small stage
tell me finally please
my desperate final relief
if my father's idols are dead
do hymns praise hollow belief?
hapless we wonder
did the great prankster on high
choke on fame, vomit and tithings
grown aloof in his sky?
we clever cynical ones
ironic artisans so smug
look up from below
sunk in pits that we dug
for maybe forgotten in all this
as we wallow, we strain,
is a lead author not actor
leads this short life's refrain
for does a god cry for blood
or -isms that you praise
if the absence of mercy
only stoke hatred's blaze?
we squabble, we bicker
strutting down marbled halls
but ending we're all leavened
by that final curtain call
leaving nothing behind
chin up and eyes forward
reach for the bright heavens
and that final reward
can it be halos and harpstrings
or virgins unbounded
or maybe just ending
with shining trumpets unsounded?
to ask for meaning means nothing
if the ending's the same
but authentic hearts will live truer
in this heartbreaking game
so in ending I wandered
down a fog shrouded road
unsure of the ending
just follow paths as they flowed...
Copyright ©
Andrew Foreman
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