The Library: This life of strife, but God!


If I get thinking about where
I am, It is difficult not
to exchange notes.
For though we were told
it is utterly unwise
to compare ourselves with ourselves;
Who will be in the middle of
a ladder and will not look up-
wards or down to observe where they are headed?
or look backward to
where they are from?
For such is how life is moulded and it is how
it will always unfold.
We are shielded in layers and walls.
There’s no real in reality to hold.
We wake, work, write, die and reverse these folds that are sewn into life.
sometimes I am forced to ask why-
of what use is this-
where one is born, suffers, and dies?
players play games, games eat players—
the knight strikes his sword, the bishop sends to hell those they spurn.
He who sits on the highest throne;
He will watch and he will listen
to the voice of forsaken men.
Men who have broken the leash, a faux mask.
Now vulnerable and naked;
a relic of what should have been
“This is where I come through”, He says
to dot your eyes so you will see
There’s no strife I haven’t conquered.

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