Into The Oblivion

They lie unmoved in their grave clothes, for
puzzled thoughts grieve and fend off the
inevitability of death, dolorous relicts who
find constant hope in their poetic book of
proverbs and psalms written by heretics of
truth; still, they live in constant oubliance 
of this regretful life, an obligation to live
beyond life itself is their obstinate fate, the
inanity that girds their poortith minds who 
can’t and will never accept this dread and 
godawful discontentment, I find men weak 
who flail at religion for some shield from 
eternal damnation, it’s beyond pathetic the
way these morbid hounds chastise and browbeat
their mindless followers into submission, calling
them sinners while stealing their silver; alas, for
they’ll never offer you anything more than the breath 
of life and fate has already secured for you already, 
ministers despise pauperism; this life is agnostic as 
it is mystical, though no need to apply guilt and shame 
where we all go into the oblivion separately-the eternal
bliss of nothingness, for pain will never be registered 
into the constant oblivion.

- John Hardesty 

©️Copyrighted August 2019