He cinches sinews of might

Around the night

And binds darkness from the light.

His unfathomable power

Exploded all matter

Into space. Still, as fighters

We deny His awesome position,

Exalting ourselves, our exposition.

We say, “He’s to blame for our fallen condition?

I will glory in who I am,

What I’ve achieved, in all I can.”

In turn he says, “You are but a man!”

I feel: my heart it beats,

I listen: my mouth it speaks,

I watch: my eyes they see.

“Do you function on your own?

As your own?

As if you own—


No. No. Nothing.

The only thing

You possess

Is death

And mess.

I will knock and knock.

Can’t you hear the years tick off the clocks?

Yet you box and box,

And your Pugilism

Turns vandalism,

Stealing time, all for a schism.

Posted in Poetry