Ex-Streams of consciousness’

Eternal life is a blank page...
In a diary that goes unwritten.
Life is an entry in that diary-page
That continues daily to be written.

The universe therefore is a library
Of empty books upon gods own shelf
Each one a quark a singularity,
An atom: Of pure consciousnesses.

Unaware of any physical realms
That lay outside the pumping vessels
Of our blood, we’re contented to be
In his hands his non-readership.

But as with all good books
We must enter the vile-body of natures
Readership too begin our new chapter
Through yours, and his, eyes only.

“O lord keep me on thy eternal shelf
Unwritten and unread:
So I might find my only peace, only rest.
Where there is, No I”, nor me.

“O we’re all just a part of some fiction!
Of everyone’s lost linguistic reality,
Everyone’s subconscious” eternity,
...In thee..?

Words they’re fluid, but they require
Binding, but O lord an empty book
Is transparent and doesn’t require
A jacket or a spine or any fervent; look.

For it is truly free and awe inspiring!
...Weightless and yet; indelibly-heavy
To be a single white page held in his hand,
Erased within his gravity for all; modernity.