The Illusion of Comfort

Chestnut Ridge

Cold, frozen hands

That are pink and hard to move

The forest

This young forest

I know it

But I do not know it

I’ve been given the illusion of comfort

By Him.

Property, law, and the word

Who knew

They would go on to divide the world

Into such ugly pieces?

Did he know?

Most likely

Alone, I wander

Lost in thought

And lost forever in mind

He’s also left alone

The embers of a burning bush

Gone forever

And empty

And this is what he created

The one who hacks.

I owe it to my ancestors

Who worshipped a broken being

For a millennium

Stolen from

His land

He became hollow

Not holy

Sanctimonious

Not sacred

A shell of his former beauty

It’s too much for a being like

Him

To carry the whole world on His shoulders

He’s weary and weak

And so are we.

He’s always been selfish

And I can’t blame him

But now we need a selfless god

One who encourages community

And love for another

Not just our tribe.

Maybe the creator gods

Were never meant to be involved

In our personal lives

And his desire for attention

Simply broke

Reality

Leaving us

With the illusion of comfort

When we’re disconnected from the land,

The spirits,

And each other.

Separated

Because separation is his magic.

Divide and rule.

We must broaden our horizons

And welcome back

Old gods

And the forest spirits

And the dead

To lift the weight from Yahweh / Jehovah.