The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate presence within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Is she masculine?
Or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Is this life
but an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy …
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand?

Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Just mere quarks
traversing the dark?
An infinitesimal part
of a dimension mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

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The Elvis of God

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. . . and the Glam Rock

A child playing

with wildfire rebellion

The croupier who deals you in

swiftly twisting

sweet venom on the tongue

with chemical smoke rising

Into the wasteland

of a wandering soul

a toxic river is flowing

Body and spirit

within the echo of a scream

paying a heavy toll

Caught in the tangled web

of a deceptive dream

The gambler seduced

with an empty hand

upon a dying bed

For heaven’s sake

sleepwalkers awake

Is it ever too late

to make the big break?

Who’s pulling the strings?

Can you hear the truth

when the Elvis of God sings?

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