So what do I do when I come to the point where the universe embodies a new persona?
When my "firm beliefs" seem childish to me,
When my creator becomes man made.
I was taught the words God, love, and church the moment my parents heard my first babble,
So what happens when the starting words of my voice digress until only one holds weight,
Because without a God even my one word of meaning can become weightless,
Words are intangible to gravity,
Along with morals,
And souls,
The beauty of this world become essentially futile,
The once purposeful placement of babies in wombs becomes circumstantial,
And while the ability to produce life will always remain a miracle to me,
Our lives are now completely insignificant,
Leaves us all ants invading picnics in a galaxy that wasn't created for us,
Until a blackhole swallows us with repelents,
An act so valueless in the vast geography of things,
But maybe it would put us out of our misery,
Bring an end to these elaborate sand castles we already kill ourselves over,
I've felt this "spirit" in my "soul" for years,
But maybe I've only been whispering little lies to myself because I love the idea that I mean something more than just a living shell,
That I have some pre laid out plan carrying me to momentous moments,
That someone is looking out for me before I've even entered a room,
Or a second,
That there are reasons to endure,
I want to believe there is a God.
But I do remember at age six I asked my mother what heaven was like,
And she answered that it was like a never ending summer camp,
I have always hated summer camp and the idea of eternity,
When I die I want to be dead,
I want my bones to be encompassed by roots and my ashes to nourish flowers,
I want my memory to be the only thing that continues to live after my heart stops,
Because the idea that this world is temporary will always leave us with dissatisfaction marrying dismissal,
But I've come to realize that I've had the miracle to experience life,
And it wasn't planned by a higher being,
But I just happened,
And even though I feel sick writing this,
And something inside me is crying betrayal,
I want to enjoy this short time I have,
I want to build sandcastles and eat the stars' debris,
I want to accept that life doesn't need anymore meaning than to just enjoy the journey I've somehow ended up in.