Wow! I commented on the previous version, and you did exactly what I envisioned you doing. I actually like this version better than the next version that you posted below. It's pared down lets more be implied rather than stated, if that makes sense. Glad you're working more with this :)
If God Were a Suicide Survivor Who Blows Off My Texts Like Bad Prayers (trying a new form, and the formatting got screwed up--it's supposed to be in three columns :)
I'm revising the earlier poem (saying yes to something) so it works towards a thing I believe, or am trying to believe.
Outside the sun burns.
Inside every brain is a room full of stars
That may burn out before we have time to see them.
On the news strangers in red ties explain how it is going to be.
But inside I know what already is.
On the news everyone worries about tomorrow.
What will happen. What will be taken away.
But today I hold a dandelion in a vase. A view of the trees
Through the window. My neighbors’ kids playing with their cat.
Online A few thousand poets post their writing on my wall.
This is how love survives. Scribbling
it all down, what there is to hold onto,
What there is to fight for. The arms reaching out.
The message: Do not fear
The fall.
Forgive me. I've got another version now.
Instead of Listening to the News I check in with the poets.
Out there, cities full of birds go quiet during a bombing.
But inside the poets open journals between two stacks of books.
Everyone I know warns against Fascists of the future
But the poets turn towards history of the human heart
Campaigning in the streets. Everyone I know is worried they will lose
Their freedom. The poets ask how many hands you have held?
How many windows have you looked through?
This is the reason we keep on scribbling.
Outside the sun threatens to burn out.
Inside the human skull a thousand constellations rotate.
Look in the books as you look up at the darkness.
There you’ll find the explosions of all original wars.
Their light finally reaching us
from millions of news cycles away.
Wow! I commented on the previous version, and you did exactly what I envisioned you doing. I actually like this version better than the next version that you posted below. It's pared down lets more be implied rather than stated, if that makes sense. Glad you're working more with this :)
If God Were a Suicide Survivor Who Blows Off My Texts Like Bad Prayers (trying a new form, and the formatting got screwed up--it's supposed to be in three columns :)
dead empty worry
dead green faith
dead app empty
lonely fear
roadside alone ride
bleeding he's hope
dying looking wild
alerts
perhaps failed
silent dead rocks
broken crumpled among
parts
phone
still feel
dead other's nothing
end prayers nothing
texts worry nothing
such a strange shift to think of God as a suicide survivor. I have to let this one gel a bit. So surprising and emotionally evocative.