To a Naturalist

Beneath, the woods grow dark and deep.
I quake at my imagined leap -
this precipice a life will reap.
Will branches catch me if I fall?
Or will the Underearthlings call?
This bitter bout - my final shout;
my wake and transcendental ball.

In nothingness - in quiet rest
Spinoza's plight I've been bequest -
it leaves me saddened and distressed.
The soul's a comfort in the dark
as losing loved ones leaves a mark.
The end of all's a pitch black wall
where silence claims the living spark.

The soul's an unclothed human shell.
The pits grow weary - heed the knell
a sea of blood will serve me well.
I am nothing - bent out of shape;
and silently the gate will scrape
upon a block of greyish rock
and yonder lies the great escape.



Poetry by An-ders
Read 588 times
Written on 2011-05-22 at 12:25

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


countryfog
As I recall, Spinoza was a Rationalist, excommunicated by his Jewish faith for denying the immortality of one's soul. It is both easier and harder, I think, to have some doubt if not faith, to at least wonder "will branches catch me if I fall"? There is much here for a reader to relate to, each in his own way and belief.
2011-05-22