A Portrait of the Artist as God

Summer is over. The autumn rains
Have descended like tears from an invisible god.
I lie on this rock, the ringing of the isle’s name
drips off my ear
along with the stampede of water rushing
rushing through the silence

Clothed with beauty,
I began to understand,
The source of Jupiter-Zeus
And begin to form my own mythology
Within the realm of reality

I see the personality of the wind
The fright of the trees
the whispers of the water
The art of the sky the song of nature
My altar erected;
I now understand

My heart in one accord, in that which I was made for
Worship of somethings someone anything
never nothing
In hopes of finding joy.

As I lie in the midst of beauty’s nature’s beauty
I grow sad because:
For although they knew him,
they did not honor him as such
or give thanks to him,
but they became futile in their thinking,
and their foolish hearts were darkened.

Claiming to be wise,
they became fools,
and exchanged the glory of the immortal for images
resembling mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

Because they exchanged the truth about him for a lie
and worshiped and served the creation rather than
the Creator.

And I am no different.

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