Searching Within

So small,
and huddled…
Like the oracle’s ball;
In a fist, or against the wall;
Not bejeweled, but hanging,
on a chain of sorts;
A man nailed to a cross,
Or an elephant head set in brass,
What religion speaks for;
An unholy calm;
Prospecting vague symbols,
at the irrational generalization of life’s form;
Or through scriptures,
that urge for blood and scars;
One book, one word, to end all thought.

Is that God?

© soulreserve 2015

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