Uncomfortable Truths

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Maybe the perfect world we seek

Is not meant to be;

Maybe the bliss of heaven

Becomes hell for eternity;

 

What would we do

Without our body

Without a body

To touch,

To hug,

To feel,

To hear,

And to smell,

Even to see,

What would we be?

 

No, life is the gift,

An ecological-biological

Roll of the dice

That makes one exist,

Maybe more than twice

Because the probability

Infinitely precise.

 

Thrill does not come from goodness,

And playing nice;

Progress does not come from utopian decadence

And the disease called innocence.

We connect in this struggle

Called life.

 

Maybe good and evil are father and son,

Mother and daughter possessed in

Your young little one

Comprised of sperm and egg,

Desire?

 

We but run, run, run,

Runaway not from sin,

But from truth, and

In it, we create a myth of

Good, innocence, truth and love,

But fool ourselves from the good-evil within.

 

We like bad news, sensation, and rage, so that our hell

Seems safe and mundane.

 

If you seek heaven, it’s life that you miss,

And what is this?

Are you good because you love,

Or are you “too good”

to save yourself

Believing that only few will see heaven.

You think God knows not

The difference?

 

But s/he tells you this, “Tell me your story,

All of it,

And you will be judged

From what you miss.”

 

Are you so good now?

Can you cast these stones,

Or did you run out of th[time]em?

Maybe heaven is bliss.

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