They didn’t think that I noticed that a stack of their holy books and my own books burned exactly the same. There was no magic force field to suppress the consuming flames. No lightning from the sky to strike me down for experimenting on sacred texts. How could there be? I was not telling the lies! But it was lies that forced me to abide to a sect of beliefs that could never coincide with the reality of being alive.
And I stood in the field in the black of the night, as the last embers of prophecies extinguished in a myth of shadowed smoke rising like the offering of a sacrificial lamb. By the light of the moon, where I stood, screaming my disdain, provoking every name and still nothing changed. I felt nothing. I seen nothing. There was nothing else to do but collapse to the cold weeds, and briefly, just be. Just exist in that moment. Right then. Right now. I am the only god I know.
© Christopher Allen Breidinger
Excerpt from the book The Church of Poetry
About the Author
Christopher Allen Breidinger is an American poet, editor, songwriter and book cover designer currently residing in Winter Haven, Florida with his wife of 22 years and their teenage daughter. Inspired by the world and impassioned by changing for the better, Christopher seeks to plant seeds of profound thought and sing songs of harmony with his words, while exploring both the darkness and the light, searching for a more perfect balance.
Visit Author Page At: www.ctupublishinggroup.com/christopher-allen-breidinger.html