Clay Smith, Forthwith

I wrote this a while back and just rediscovered it.  A much different read now as opposed to then.

…

I want to dance to the madness by which the world was set spinning

I want to hang myself up in the closet of the almighty

Still, emptiness echoes where hearts should beat

And His disenchanting embrace outlasts Him

I can think and I can guess; I can wonder or pretend,

But I’m belied if understood, as my scheming thoughts intend

My starved, withered mind begs for apprehension

In frantic heat it lies, blistering in the desert of its own conviction

Could it be heavenly to doubt if there is such a place at all?

And what is he that speaks me an answer, here?

Why should truth and consolation be ever thus opposed?

Each the devil of the other, forever they transpose…

Now, all joy is for pain, and all faith for doubt’s seducing lips

Though we are wed before a slip of life escapes them

I have not peace nor hope enough to take this bride to bed

No god could keep the promises of my wilding fantasy

Stark hearts long for knowing, though they are spent on grieving

Why must it always be that seeing kills my believing?