The Lost Realist

…Eventually,

We all collapsed,
Atom against atom,
Idea against idea,
Child against child.

When Blood was exhausted,
The voice of God,
The conscious one,
Died.

Silence.

Void.

Oblivion to oblivion.
God emerged; then,
Submerged — again,
into the folds of mystery.

Sleeping for aeons,
In infinity’s womb,
Until the purposelessness,
Creates him again.

Arduous birth,
Painful flowering,
Improbable triumph,
Just for destruction.

We decide,
if this must go on.

Alas, most of us
are sleep-walking.
Stop deluding yourself,
And wake the hell up!