The void

I could turn to religion to

cover the void, and hide

the gaping hole that exists

at the heart of who I am:

this space, this yearning place

of questions unanswerable

about why I have to die and

leave forever this beautiful

pearl of consciousness.


I could fill it up full with drugs

to dull its pain and weight,

but that will not satisfy the

Tin Man that finds a way

in the world and then lets it

go to dissolution,

to the scattering

salty decay of a ship sunk

in the deepest coldest sea.


How shalt I deal with this

blackness at the tender heart

of being itself?

How shall I, my friends?


Cover it over with pretty tales of

future hope that have fed the

sucking void since humans strode

out of Africa and built their

devotion to the hungry gods, and

thought there was more in this

universe that’s never at rest.


O what citadels we have built:

what grand institutions of control and

lies have papered over the smiling

gap that never lets us go, even in

our delusion that heaven awaits, and

there’s fiery hell below for those

who question the creed created

neatly as make believe.


But the question remains—it has

always been there in every person,

in every smile and behind all the vanities

that seem to make us higher than

the speaking snake beneath our feet.

You, my friends, have the void in you,

and it waits, yes awaits,

looks out and in,


and one short day, hidden in

your ancient biology,

the void will open up

and take its own and

swallow you whole.