Our Father – Salau Anthony

January 1, 2025

The descent from clouds and ascension to Earth,
Lofty heights buried, underground caves unearthed,
The man rateater in the refuse bin has glimpsed the profound,
The woman who despises him digs her own grave,
Nothing is nothing, everything is everything, all is all,
On your skull is etched a manuscript,
Carved by the entity you acknowledge and revere,
Through the deity that you neither acknowledge nor revere,
The sleep of sorrow and the dream of joy,
The baptism with fire and the cleansing with ash,
Our Father who art in inferno,
Hallowed be thy utterances,
The poem without words and the truth without tongue,
The essay without breath and the matrimony without metal,
The sand without soul and the fire without flame,
The garden of bones and the graveyard that bloomed,
The bald bard bears a beard of bones,
Thoughts so venial and newborns so venerable,
This is the scripture, matrimony of germination and decay,
Ink seeps into wood and breath scurries underneath attrition,
Who is a saint in a world filled with virtue?
The philosophy of dualism will be the proponent of our demise,
Our utterances classified, our thoughts characterised,
The non-acceptance of existence, yet bitter pursuit of existence,
We might as well bring the blade to bloodied vein,
Our Father who art in nothingness,
Hallowed be thy name, may form be thy abode,
Formlessness is your doing, flesh, your undoing,
Plant a seed and pray for a goat to germinate,
Plant a femur and ready the mortars for the feast,
Our Father who art in literature,
Who speaks to nothingness with no tongue through every tongue,
Literature is the saddest road that leads to everything,
And everything is a brass castle manned by infant gargoyles,
Myths and memoirs, love and lies, allegories of flame rekindled,
The gauntlet is buried, an orchard in bloom,
The beautiful thoughts lie behind the darkest,
Sifting through your grasp like the exhale that is time,
Our Father who art in you,
The darkest thoughts enveloped in bouquets,
Our Father who art in you,
If vile was not saccharine then you would not be too.