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some poems ish


BookOfRuthless
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I was looking back through some old poetry and thought I might post ones that sort of fit in with the idea of "losing my religion" haha. Maybe my subconscious was speaking through me all along...

 

 


Kneeling at the Mountain


You don’t know it now, but You know it
somewhere
in that small wrinkle of the universe
that Your mind is afraid to touch.
Yes, You know it
somewhere
among the harsh, goliath peaks:
all You have is infinitesimal
and all You are is infinitesimal
and that’s just the way You want it.

 

 


don’t let me think too much


please   don’t let me think too much
this time it’s gone too far
oh wait   what do I mean
it always goes too far
like   slinking into a river
rocks in your pockets
and hoping you won’t drown
don’t drown
   please
don’t let me think too much
but if I do
do as I think
give me rocks
push me in
and say goodbye   because
it always goes too far

 

 


Mama don’t chase


Up and wandered the asphalt seas
itchin’ where the wind’s eyes were
lookin’ for me
blacktop cookin’ my feet and
fingers braidin’ the heat
Mama don’t chase screamin’ please

    come home.

Hummin’ the hilly symphony
composin’ with roses that are
conductin’ me
cuttin’ me
thorns are cryin’ as I bleed ‘cause
there ain’t nobody trimmin’ us weeds.

 

 


Dear Death


Have you returned to the living
digging for bones in the creek
as the whitewater rapids
flow over your whitewashed
skin?
Have you returned to the living
digging for patterns in the snow
catching the hums and sighs
of a world alive
while you rasp and croak?
Have you returned to the living
digging for holes in the leaves
that maybe you don’t have to be
an evanescing mass
but you could be
here
watching the world turn and
digging for bones in the creek.

 

 


Bruises


Your kisses leave bruises on my cheek
the delicate hue of my mother’s batiks,
like my faded jeans with a homely streak.

Let’s wear them in windows reflecting the bleak
folk tunes and fictions of homesick antiques,
while your kisses leave bruises on my cheek.

Let’s trample the mosses on down to the creek,
hand in hand though my grasp is weak
in my faded jeans with a homely streak.

Let’s lie side by side and soak in the sun’s leak
at an angle too close; at a perfect oblique
so your kisses leave bruises on my cheek.

They’ll whisper their worries through pointed beaks,
for they’ll never grasp, like you did that week
at my faded jeans with a homely streak

outside the church, in that little boutique,
where the night was so tight that I couldn’t speak,
and your kisses left bruises on my cheek
like my faded jeans with a homely streak.

 

 

 

Waves


with the waves of the

universe lapping at the

sand between my toes

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20 hours ago, BookOfRuthless said:

 

 


don’t let me think too much


please   don’t let me think too much
this time it’s gone too far
oh wait   what do I mean
it always goes too far
like   slinking into a river
rocks in your pockets
and hoping you won’t drown
don’t drown
   please
don’t let me think too much
but if I do
do as I think
give me rocks
push me in
and say goodbye   because
it always goes too far

 

 

 

Is this a metaphor of your faith or your Christian self?  If so, I assume the religious you lies at the bottom of some creek now, weighed down and drowned by the stones of doubt. 

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That one was actually a very literal expression of a particular bout of depression I had, but it fits with some deconverting sentiments I've heard. That thinking too much about the Bible itself can actually go too far, can lead to the suicide of your own religion.

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Depression and Christianity go hand in hand, that is the bottom line.  You then read the Bible and realizing you have to worship that blood thirsty god in heaven after receiving a divine lobotomy in heaven (glorification).  This just takes that despair to a whole new leve. 

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