30/12/2022
Some say they can rebuild Eden
To trace their palms through soil
To become themselves gods on high
And resurrect glory from dust
Some do what they will
In a comatose fever of lust and pleasures
Drunk mad off dark desires
In a state of which would make Freud blush
With reckless abandon they pile high their prizes
Only to lurk as a mere co**se beneath their pyre
Alone and misery amplified
Internal decay festering- the stench of apathy- a rotting soul turns the most hardened stomach weak.
And this is their heaven
This is their eden
Some search a world of knowledge
Swelling themselves to the brim
But the vessel is fractured
Their swelling turns from mind to chest
And haughty they become
Yet answers never trickle forth
Water comes from stones at a quicker pace
They lick the boots of gurus
But leave only with a swollen cracked tongue
And some demystified awake to find their messenger angels were nothing more than manakins- their marionettes entwined around the fingers of tyrants
All who are no wiser than the fool they find themselves to be
They flee to guzzle at the fountain of relative truth
Yet find it a toxic basin of mire to sludge
But in their horror they cannot stop imbibing
The seeds of their eden will never taste a living brook, but shall fester under the monochrome acid rain of relative truth
And what of that kind of truth? Are not lies their father? To them, wisdom is dead, science is a foreign word with a forgotten definition- yet the idea they mock is what they have become: a nonsensical cult- a circus in the desert of meaninglessness.
And here their religion stands, refusing to open their eyes, refusing to escape to a land proffering life
And this is their heaven
This is their eden
Some bind their roots with others
Intertwined in earth below
A desperate act half recognizing
A greater value in it all
Yet roots will always choke out roots
And so all people do the same
If you want to hear the answer
All would war till one remained
A pitiful stasis- a truth that ends in self-destruction
Isolation, fragmentation,
And a life twice as lonely as what was feared to begin with
This is their heaven
And this is their eden
But as the world topples, grasping at shadows in the mire of its own repugnance, a few have waited on the Lord their God, keeper of the garden He planted at the foundation of this heavenly stage.
Despite the ignorant cawing of scoffers, they stubbornly stood their ground in faith, till the final act of this play called “life.”
Let it be known, that this small company strived to the very end, ran the race until their lungs filled with a torturous fire, and upon the finish line, now reign at His side victorious, with crowns more beautiful than jade leaves and cherry blossoms- And where are the scoffers now? are they not Passed out in their wretched filth? Under the derelict ruins of their ivory towers? once ruling on a high and now in the throws of the hangover begotten by their own debauchery and nonsensical ideologies?? This is the reward of the Godless, no matter which of the man- devised courses one held to plot. Yet, for the one who keeps his heart steadfast, he is granted the ultimate gifts- a reconciled heart, a heavenly father, a place to call home, and to this sum are those who shall discover the answer-
eden was never something that could be made nor attained, but only given.
