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.

Even so,

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. . .

Why repeat?

Why elsewhere?

Where is the Logic?

Where is my Ghost?

©2018 Christopher Thompson

All rights reserved


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