Beings of Light:

we are beings of light
who have forgotten
how to shine

Telos:

buried
at the bottom
of a stack of old books
time worn, betrayed
sorted by sheer negligence

forgotten
like a sock
at a laundry mat
a toy in a park
never to be
visited again

stolen by the silence

nobody speaks
of nihilistic futures
to a room 
mesmerized 
by youth

for all the good intentions
years of nurturing
schooling, structuring
undermining
and mixed messages

responsibilities
of youth, of age
life and death
reaching
growing
becoming

they never
bothered
to teach us
what we were
growing up
for

Darwin's God:

Darwin's God: an empty space,

Manifested in the inability of cells

To replicate identically;

Who dwells in the blackest abyss,

Beyond the universe—

Shrouded in nothingness

Existence ruled by chance,

That to exist might be a chance—

If only to be lived for a moment

Before its rule is overthrown

By its own negligence

For this empty space,

Which is Darwin's God,

Rules by throwing dice

Though only when He rolls

Straight sixes, do the dice

Begin to wonder what it means

To be a hydrogen atom

Burning within the sun

For with each chance occurrence

There is a chance un-occurrence,

Destroying the accidental beginning

Of every accidental ending

Thus, the universe merely exists

Until it ceases its own existing,

Only to start from nothing

Once the dice begin unrolling

Trusting this Divine absence

For salvation from its nonsense,

Either by destruction

Or through an infinite creation

How could it be otherwise?

In this non-stop variation

That only becomes sentient

According to the orientation

Of a set of dice that exist

Solely in the nothingness

Of the throne room wherein sits

A God characterized by his own lack of being

This chance: stopping whimsically,

Then starting again against all reason;

Constantly determined by the meandering

Of a will-less Agent who quite possibly

"Could" exist—so long as His creation

Was purely, and utterly, accidental

As could His power to create

By His own, chancely, pure hand

For in this infinitely improbable system,

Perpetuated by a godless void,

There are only two paths to perfection:

A chance collapse that leads to [infinite] silence

Or an accident which forms a Garden

Oh, Darwin's God, a godless wretch,

Who owns our souls from birth;

Whose dominion flows from nothing

And everything all at once

Oh, Empty Space by which

My fateless destiny is determined,

Who cannot want or sorrow,

Save through the roll of

An infinitely sided die,

And cannot think itself—

Save through its own

Sheer improbability

Oh, Vacant Being from whom

Springs forth all purpose in life

And all nihilistic turmoil

Canst thou see thy fate?

For surely thou are nothing;

Oh, Darwin's God, thou art dead;

Surely, thou hast killed thyself

The moment we first believed thee

For Darwin's God

(Who cannot exist),

Cannot exist at

Nocturne:

I miss the solitude
of late night
wanderings
through the paths
I once knew
so well

the calm
of the cool air
guiding my soul
to a state of near
transcendence

I miss the lull
of the breeze
gently carrying away
my worries
through the windows
as I drive
through the void

allowing the music
to penetrate my soul
more profoundly
letting the sounds
take root and instill
a genuine conversion
as I slowly drift
nearer to sleep

in the darkness
all I see is light

in the calm
I can feel my God
reaching for me

An Island:

where does a bird fly
when it's tired of being free?

where does an island turn
when it's tired of the sea?