by Tim Delong Jr

In a sunset

nature becomes art

and

art becomes blasphemous.

 

Sometimes I wonder:

Do we paint on cave walls,

and canvas,

and faces

to communicate God?

Or to distract from the carnal holy

Of skinned knees and hurt feelings?

 

Do we learn

To layer clay over skin?

To worship form over fissure?

 

You see

I’ve met a lot of people that I like.

Good people.

Godly people.

But I just don’t trust their imaginings of the immaculate,

their take on the timeless.

 

Like,

I wonder if

Christ came for the nail in his hand -

the thorn on his head.

The smell of leper skin

and taste of blood,

was it sweeter than eternity?

 

Was the big bang louder than the chorus of hallelujah?

 

I think

Christ knew that

oblivion

was waiting on the cross,

and

if only for a sweet moment,

humanity too.