A tricky little poem about observing people as they misplace their faith. |
-Opaque At Best- by Keaton Foster Prophet Poet I don’t know it Why am I here Such a question Always unclear For now In this present omnibus I’m writing Contriving Fighting to get Under their skin I’m just a man A gullible beast Burdened By what I’ve done Unsure This everything Does indeed seem I have no faith At least none In a conventional sense Quite willingly I dance upon the graves Of those considered heretics I shout to God above Hear this voice My cry In this Your wilderness Once I feared All of your creatures Now fear is what I have Least of all There is no reply None that I’ll accept Further will I persist Complication does spoil The inner conspiracies Of my wretched chest Barely can I stomach Myself or anyone else I’m quite toxic To my own being What a hell of a place For a person to be I see other people Foolish sheeples One and the same Observation is my way I study each detail Every cynical nuance I watch them fake I watch them lie Observing them die Increments on the outside Monuments on the inside Soon, like me They will become numb Unable to further feel When that day comes I know that they Each and everyone Will lose their faith Such is the way of this game They will judge God above Freely they will speak Without fear or hesitation They will ask him What have you done How could have you Let this happen to me They’ll be no reply None that they’ll accept God is mute He makes his point Not with his words But with actions alone His crooked finger extends Screwed are those few of us Who stand under his shadow In this place No sun shines bright In this place Only darkness finds time An all encompassing Subtle everything That overtime creeps in Suffocating out any light Laboring us to struggle to see What was once clear Becomes opaque at best What we once knew With absolute certainty Becomes what we know Least of all… Opaque At Best Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |