Absence is the present

When God finally wakes back up,

To cast his judgement down,

In the disappointing gaze,

Only a Father-to-me could muster,

He won’t find me worthy or wanting,

Because he won’t find me at all,

Except in the form of an accounting error,

A blip in the books,

Only existing by accident,

Begging for erasure by its very nature.

He’ll see the Lot of You, though,

And he won’t be happy or sad,

Justly full of disdain,

Like a baker who forgot to add that

Missing ingredient,

After the oven dings.

Don’t cry for me,

As if you could without

Knowing my name,

Because I’ve been prepared,

Intrinsically and through

Perpetual silence gifted as swaddling clothes,

For the world to forget me,

Unforgiven for the sins of my Father.

The Great Bastard will give me,

In the end as in the beginning,

Only what my soul was born to deserve:

Obliviating freedom.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s