My faith came late, in form
of a revelation: that God was
a suicide bomber.
As with S–>Paul, light obfuscated me,
and I saw before my needle-eyes
God’s last action, in His will to reunite
with His Father, in Grandgod's Heaven.
God’s Love weighed a belt of explosives.
crowd in a Heavy Gas concert.
First there was the Word,
and thus He spake, “Let there be Light.”
And He pressed the switch.
And His whole body off blew.
And the scientists got it right;
that the Big Bang was
an universe starting anew.
“God is dead,” Nietzche told us.
Yet we smirk for he's dead also.
And here we stand. Relatively,
we're but the ephemeral insect
for whom a day is eternity,
while the bodily pieces of God
and Demons are still expanding
into space. For them it's fresh
this explosion. For us, it took place
thirteen billion years ago. Or last night,
if in revelations there's any truth.
Will such movement ever end?
Will there be a contraction?
Will we forever expand?
To give these questions answer
my revelation's short as any.
So here we stand, God’s
flesh everywhere, of Demons more,
of which we're made--a paradox.
My revelation can well be that
each successful suicide-bomber
begets a new micro-universe.
