Overread at Table 1: Poem of the Day: Mistaken Lines

The idea for God is not mistaken,
lines upon lines have been written,
engraved in the barks of trees, tree bark
pulled and pulped into paper and
graphite ground into ink and
innumerable ink stained fingers have
rubbed the parchment with words upon
uncountable human words about God and
who God is and is not and was and will be
forevermore, ever and ever, and still
now in the iridescent light that blinds our
eyes from the fluorescent bulbs that bathe us
in the hum and drum and glum of this
thing
we now call our
daily lives,
grind out of our minds these ideas for the word
God
the words of God,
the concept is such a fleeting thing,
lost,
now,
that we have killed all the trees,
buried all the paper and ink in landfills,
and all our words now stored
outside our minds, saved in the
cloud,
where we know something exists,
but we have forgotten
exactly
what.










MR
2017-0630