Hidden against the night sky
Erect and perpendicular in space
I stand for nothing.
I have trodden my way
Against the thick and the thin,
To reach the inside of this place.
To find nothing.
Where is my ghost?
It would seem that
Everyone hides alone.
There is little reason for belief
In this Cross bearing Via
This Book, this Hill
Convex against the lightening of Heaven.
Even if it Tears in two no more than a mortal curtain,
It leads some from the tempest
To the Gates.
I must wade through blood to arrive.
Perpendicular, I am penetrative.
My heels are on this World,
My head is off in the Cosmos.
I must stand for something.
Everyone is alike in this regard,
All are alone in this crowded space.
For if we are of the same image and likeness as. . .
Where is the Logic?
Where is my Ghost?
©2018 Christopher Thompson
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