An Anxious Agnostic's Take On the Afterlife
We don’t shine like we used to, The light in our eyes
Faded long ago, To the radioactive glow
Building our dystopian walls, If you stand there
Upon a crowded city street, You can feel
The ancient shriveled roots beneath your feet
Softly humming a melodic harmony of lost time
And whispering ancient words that never rhyme
We did not make ourselves
With quivering hands and breaking thread
Though we do unravel from toe to head
If pulled too roughly at the seems, Though in the end
What does it all mean?
There’s a seamstress up in the night’s sky
Sewing up your sister’s and brothers
Embroidering our hearts with words
Such as “heroes, cowards, and lovers”
If you stand up tall enough you may be able to see
Over the city walls and metal skyscrapers
Made by homesick dolls
If I tell you that I’m lonely, Will you say the same to me?
And answer all my questions
Was I made in the image of me or of thee?
If I tell you that I’m trying, Will the truth ever prevail?
Or will the dystopian walls flourish
Where Love and Compassion fail
If I say that we are a failed creation, Will you agree with me?
Or will you gaze down with blind eyes?
Staring lovingly
There’s a motel up in the night’s sky, In the middle of nowhere and lost
That’ll give you a place to stay, Even if you can’t meet the cost
Though the walls are stained, And the beds creak with time
There are ancient whispered words heard
That never rhyme
Copyright © Jasmine Ekenbarger | Year Posted 2023
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