god is dead

Nietzsche said: “God is dead”

My mother fiercely disagrees

She stamps outside and yells

That I too will die

And for this she cries

Like a child,

Her eyes well up

And bitterness pours out

I am a soul. I am a body.

I am a mind. I am free.

I am not the words I read.

Or the people who rest beside me.

I am this mantra.

And nothing else

I have read poetry

I have read novels

Which have taught me to fear death

Where the bloodless creatures call out to death

To come save them

They lie down

And beg

And cry

My mind is a watery puddle

Whose mud refuses to settle

And whose ideals and morals

Are scattered and broken

Unable to be constructed into something

That lasts and is not worn down

I have read their words

I have been told who I should be

But I disagree.

I will not be a copy of a copy

Of another man’s daughter, another man’s wife.

I refuse to lead a life

In which I don’t play a role

In which my wills and desires

Are a construct

Of a predetermined law,

Just a reflection

Of something that isn’t me

Are we God’s creation?

Or is he ours?

Is he simply an ideal?

An explanation

Of the unexplainable?

I cannot submit myself

To an authority

Who forces conformity

And defines a paradise

As a nation, a people

Who are incapable of thought

And whose happiness is ever-lasting

But has no basis on who they are as a being

A life is not reality if it’s simply a construct

Where survival depends on our unconditional devotion

A freedom doesn’t exist

If it is bordered with fear and angst

Happiness is not true if one has no control

Over how it is produced

And a God is not a God if he judges, hates

And creates man only to control him in the end.