Pinheads & Bitter Angels

She walked back to get
new religion and a book
and found an angel in a navy robe,
the sound of last years waterfall,
and my broken soul,

on the bookshelf with flowers
rotting in an antique vase;
all there, dancing together
in choreographed anger and
bitter odd tragic ecstasy

approaching alive
but lost in the little deaths,
and quiet ponderings,
of an unbeaten heart.

Man's one true reason
defined clearly, then with work:
understood, revealed,
celebrated as her God's,
her virtues sung loud
and stomped like mad beats
of giants iron-shod feet
named and tagged: insight
wisdom, courage, intellect,
and holy science.

Ultimately, truth within
reduced down to the absurd
now so obvious
simply aiming for goodness
does not define good
thunderous rages and roars
do not define evil

Man, though wonderous and strong
does not define God.
The dance goes on without me
and she knows the proof:
one true God, pure white noise and,
silence amidst the passion.