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Religion Inside Of A Singularity
The hymns bend backward, curved by mass,
Where light itself cannot surpass.
No chapel stands, no bell is rung,
Just gravity’s unending tongue.
The scriptures float, unpinned by law,
Their ink consumed in cosmic jaws.
A preacher prays, but time distorts—
His voice is trapped in falling thoughts.
What god survives such dark collapse?
What faith can cross event’s last lapse?
The soul’s equation must be clear:
No heaven lies beyond this sphere.
Yet still, within that silent maw,
A question stirs the minds in awe:
Does meaning stretch where matter ends,
Or fall, like light, as space-time bends?
And is belief the last to die,
Or just the urge to ask—and try?
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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