Privately experienced, empirical spiritualism
remains within the Earth’s atmosphere,
between its upper and lower limits?


Analogous to green Spring leaves,
unadulterated humanists,
so fresh, altruistic, and pure,
thriving in sunshine and shower,
absorbing toxic inversion,
sweetening dark Summer nights,
till, in last glows of Autumn,
their mission mercifully ends,
expiring, wilting, fading,
bio-degrading into rich Winter humus;
never to return,
above or below the troposphere,
the highest heaven on earth,
kept potentially clean
by their sacrificial souls.
Who will pay homage
to the life cycle of the humble humanist,
boldly surviving the Man-made hell
still polluting
the nurturing compost?






© Gothicman 2019
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critique and comments welcome.

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well actually nobody can pay any homage, not until he she it becomes somebody

so that explains a lot about the human need to invent Gods.

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