Fabric of Life

Everyone’s life, is a fabric square on a large tapestry.  We all live, for a twisting wisp of a blue gray shadowy moment, then we die.  Our story is added into the tale of humanity.  Where does the tapestry hang?  Is it proudly displayed in God’s great kingdom? Or perhaps, is it only stored in books, and memories.   A dying phantom, chained by lost languages, burning invaders, and evolution’s relentless march.

That prompts a question.  Does death scare or hurt Evolutionists?  From nothing, there can only be nothing.  No soul, no life beyond death, no real value, becomes all there is to look forward to in that perceived existence.  If I were to believe evolution as true, I would reduce myself to the product of random chance, and the offspring of a filthy monkey.  I would have no creator to ask for guidance and help.  My relationships with other people would be reduced to simply the shifting and sorting of dead matter.  Life, would not matter.  Millions, and millions of years of nothing was all there was, so what value is a few years of a false something.  There remains, only nothing.

I recently heard a wise man say, “I don’t believe in God, I know in God.”  I like that.  As a writer I am commissioned to write what I know.  I have never been to Heaven, or swam in the fiery lakes of hell, but I do believe they are real.  Much like I believe there is a center of the earth, and a heart in my chest, I believe gravity and heartbeats are felt, and not seen.  I therefore can only tell what I believe, and if you need a demon wing, or a pillar of heaven, then I can’t help you.  All I can do, is show you that you have a value beyond your physical pattern, I can take that invisible magic that is called love, and send it floating on the invisible air, to land on your invisible soul.  Love, for the sake of simply showing it exists.  It rhymes with the purpose of God.  It shows God.  It is God.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

Life is a quick sneeze, (Hii Ku!) bless you

Ruminate on life.

value in health, kids,

and loving wife.

Work to support

family, only one goal

warm childhood soul

Love, silky red mist

clothe my weary heart.

 Life anew with kiss.

Time becomes soft

moments are fragile, gray,

memories are lost.

High above Earth,

life looks so very simple,

death is birth

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

 

Heavy Silver Circles

The silver coins are heavy, and cold on my fingers.  They make a light pinging sound as I count them in my sweaty palm.  I drop them in a cloth sac like feeding pain pills into the mouth of a monster.  28, 29, 30, they are all there.  The back of my neck is hot, the mob is restless, I lead them out into the garden.

Black night holds silver clouds aloft, they float above, watching.  I know the place, I know the man, we find him easily.  The mob is watching.  I call him teacher, and kiss his cheek.  They take him.  The cold silver coins in my pocket are red hot.  My neck grows cold as a rippling chill falls from my neck, down my back.

I learn, that my friend, my teacher, that I betrayed is going to be killed.  It is early morning, I haven’t slept.  When I find the group of leaders, they are angry and proud.  The man I sold out is going to die.   I tell them I made a mistake.  They growl at me when they like a pack of wolves.  Yet it is not me they want to devour, their bellies are full with the satisfaction of the lamb they caught, my teacher, my friend.  I tell them I made a mistake, they don’t care.  I throw the silver coins at them, in a burdened toss, yet my burden remains.  The coins ping, and pling on the hard stone floor, as hard hearts laugh at my torment.

I am in sorrow, heavy black, sorrow.  It feel like I swallowed a barrel of mud.  I deserve to die!  After three years, I am a fool, and a failure.  I climb a tall tree, I fasten the rope around my neck, my face is red and hot with tears and snot.  I don’t hesitate, I let myself fall of the branch.  I think, “Dear God, please…” as I fall.  Crack!  My neck breaks, my breath is stolen from my mouth and locked in my chest.   My mouth opens and closes, like a fish pulled from the water.  In a moment I pass out.  Darkness doesn’t have far to look to find me.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Mr. Jiggle

In shadow, pulling lamp cords tight,

then, cutting wires in a flashy white spark,

Mr. Jiggle, douses the lights,

darkness turns warm skin,

into a cold and hard gray.

The eyes glassy windowed glow, lost.

Heavy drapes fall,

last breath stolen,

bony fingers, made of shadow,

collects lamps and sparks.

Sandy time, holds gritty truth,

six feet deep,

where Mr. Jiggle dwells,

he claws a rectangle,

into the sleeping earth.

 With wet brown soil,

jammed under his nails,

he carves your name,

black and final, in stone,

soon he arrives,

to unplug your lamp.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert