And God Said, “Let There Be Blight.”

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Pure truth does not exist, or when it hits

You do not like it, do you?  Only death

Is purest truth, unequalled in its blitz

Across the cosmos.  Christ exhales His breath

In Adam’s nostrils and then, yep, you know

The rest.  The rest is death, death, death, no rest

Bing Videos  Lions brutally killing.

From it eons after.  Star groups flow

Against each other and so death is pressed

Bing Videos  Galaxies colliding

In cataclysms, black, galactic.  God

Himself, if He were pure, has proved just how

Pure Truth brings on disaster.  Ultra odd

The thought is, “He is purest anyhow.”

  The notion of such purity is guile,

     And worse than that, such goodness deadly, vile.

© Phillip Whidden