Loose talk

Loose talk                                                                                                  

I drift through the loose talk of liberation, realization,

seven planes, the imminent golden age

of the new humanity.  Eternally benevolent,

(the prayer goes) God is.  Eternity’s a long time.   

Surely His benevolence gets stretched mighty thin. 

Cresting the hill, I view the next lonely stretch of highway. 

Whoever makes it to those distant mountains won’t be me.

I don’t know who he will be but I wish him well.

It takes a blind, penetrating sorrow to hope for more –

in the long view – from our Creator than His ultimate,

unconcerned benevolence; the Creator of this intricate,

unfathomable, ever-unfolding, tear-and-blood-soaked game.

O child of God, a glint in the current’s flow;

a spark from the blacksmith’s hammer.