When We Do Not Exist

It would help if we would rely more on our reason than our wishes.
It would help if we recognized fantasy for what it is.
It would help if we recognized our failings and owned up to our flaws.
It would help if we listened to our deepest, most primitive emotions and let them flow.
It would help if we accepted inadequacies, leaving excuses in the dust where they belong.

It’s okay to feel utter hopelessness, because we’ve earned that emotion.
It’s okay to weep openly at our lost innocence, knowing it’s gone forever.
It’s okay to hate who we’ve become, because we’ve become who we’ve been taught to hate.
It’s okay to sharpen the scalpel and find the softest spot on which to test its edge.
It’s okay to recognize we’ve squandered our chances to capture our own salvation.

There is no god but the one we created in our own minds,
no god but the illusion we hoped would lead us from the abyss from which
there is no escape, now that we know what we’ve created.

Help doesn’t exist where help wasn’t wanted.
God doesn’t exist when god is but who we are,
when we know we are not, nor will ever be, god.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

I wish you would tell me what you think about this post...

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.