The inspiration for this poem came a couple of years ago after hearing that the Rosetta spacecraft had discovered large-structured carbon-based molecules on Comet 67P. Naturally, this fueled my poetic desire to start a monologue with the Invisible, Non-Existent One. I can also give credit to the likes of Isaac Asimov, Christopher Hitchens, Richard Hawkins, Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Brian Cox for their inspiration and reinforcement of my own perception of the universe. Anyone who knows my poetry, essays or fiction will know that I don’t believe in God or any other deities, so you’ll know that this poem is delivered tongue-in-cheek. Anyone who doesn’t already know that, will do by the time you finish reading the poem, if, indeed, you bother to do so at all.
Did You See This Coming?
Ah, God, my silent debater,
are your ears burning today?
Such news, is it not?
Another point scored
to show your truth;
another step to unveiling
the cloak from the greatest pretender!
Well now, my omniscient friend,
did you ever see this coming?
I have to say it was no surprise
to me, or to my brethren.
But what of your flock?
How will they shoulder
the news of this latest revelation?
Come forward, you rascal,
come and see, if you dare,
how they scatter and bleat
and stamp their feet in denial,
in the irrefutable face of such facts.
Oh, dear God, my faithful listener,
all these words that we’ve shared
through so many years.
And it was always me who spoke,
never you, yet I always knew
who you were, behind which stone
you ducked from sight or sense.
But, unlike your minions,
your babbling voices on this bauble,
I also knew what they did not –
that although we conversed
in this monologue of mine,
this oft-times diatribe aimed
not at your heart, but at the spaces
around you, you invisible clown,
I was talking – and still talk –
to the teacup of the sun,
tipping its rim in salutation
of a revelation, a breakthrough
in evolution that led us to here,
to another discovery that will lead
to the toppling of an empire,
perhaps not today, but patience
in the face of millennia
Oh! And what virtue can huddle
in wait of the day that you,
my fine diviner of docile
livestock, that you finally wave
that white flag of yours, held
up your sleeve for four thousand years?
Yes, my dear and brooding brainchild
of dread, my amiable carver
of rampant insanity, I know you,
I know you well indeed,
and as the clock ticks into
the long tomorrow, its chime
will scatter the last remnants of you
to the cardinals of the cosmic winds,
and your final traces will whisper
such sonorous nothings as ever they did,
but this time the silence wll not be echoed
from the throats of your questioning choir.
God, you silver-tongued mute of vellum
and sapphire, you had your day,
and I just want to say, with a wink
and a side-long smile: Goodbye,
my oh-so favourite rogue,
without you my life would have been
quite mundane, but with you it surely
was not spent in vain, using each
of my weapons to chisel away
at your conceptual statue, in a constant
attempt to dethrone you and watch
as your flock would flee from your
crumbled feet, your head laid
between them in opaque defeat.
Victory! My baleful vandal of souls,
my omnificent maker of nothing at all,
the piece is moved after great contemplation,
a hooded gaze in your vague direction,
a knowing nod that it’s checkmate,
old chum, and, although this game
has endured for so long, it’s time now
to throw in the towel and be gone!
Copyright © 2016 Scott Kaelen
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