by Michael Plante

I sit with God in the outback
a deserted place void of human contact
my faith in people lay like sun-bleached bones
scattered around the barren placed in a symbolistic manner.
If life came with a warning symbol
it would have been a skull over cross bones.

God is an optimist,
dancing around the fire at Burning Man
waiting on his children
to burn in effigy their statuettes of God.
Spiritual cannibals that feed off each other
how I wish I could see the look on God’s face as they do it.

I don’t call out the stars anymore
as dusk arrives my interest above diminishes
a life of pain is all I understand
and oh how I thrive in my pain.
A cooled heart thumps what little is left in my body,
as God is dependent on his children
I too am dependent, on tomorrow’s rise
for what I dread is fuel to my existence
and I have come to accept that.

The wasteland of the outback lacks life
and those that survive here have no interest
in myself or God.
I’m with good company, or as best as it gets
we co-exist in a singularity expansion of mind
one where the keeper keeps
and the giver lays in a hole waiting on God’s arrival.
I need not tend that hole for all things in time decay unto themselves  
becoming fertilizer for something else.

Absolute silence is God’s gift
although we never can find it
and if we did what would we do with it anyways?
go insane I believe
for something like that would be so foreign to us
we would have to destroy it to understand it.

I have my pain and I have my God
together we sit in the outback of my mind
I never ask or plead with him
never wonder why.
We could play Russian Roulette but he’d always win
so instead we play poker to pass the time
waiting for the world to go silent
and the fire lights up the night sky
while the spirit of the cannibals
dance in the desert.

All compositions that appear on The Poet’s House are composed by Michael Plante and are subject to copyright.

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