Wrapped up and rapt in a book of Hesse
I wonder if my cryptic note
in the margin
will confuse my unborn son,
should he ever be conceived in deed,
and grow old enough and young enough
to want a beautiful book to read.

I wonder if his coming will precede
the earth-torn-asunder judgement scream--
before the Son of God arrives,
Quetzalcoatl-like
in trans-galactic-metal-light.

I wonder, awfully,
at what He'd have in store for me
for all the wicked thoughts and deeds
I treated like no more than fleeting dreams.

I hope His Kingdom does not come, literally,
but can BEcome inside of me,
inside my son,
more Buddha-like,
Kabbalah-allegorical-life--
not horsemen, pain, and death
and bloody rain on unfortunate men.

We orphans, begotten of star-sent seed,
are far too confused as yet to be
subjected to His scrutiny.
We need more time...if You're listening.

I've only just begun,
and I want to have a son
and let him know what my strange note means
if he comes to me,
should he want a beautiful book to read
and find it simply puzzling.

03/20/2010

Posted on 03/21/2010
Copyright © 2026 Ryan Nardi