How Can Hell Exist?

This piece appears in my book, "Endless Perspective of Life".   I remember when I wrote this.  I was ironing and my wife was talking to her parents on Skype when I started thinking about Hell of all things.  I was thinking of reality in terms of sub atomic physics as described by Isaac Asimov in a textbook I read at least 20 years prior.  My wife looked at me in astonishment as I wrote, then ironed, then wrote, then ironed.  This was the result.

Imagine,

Just imagine,

Tumbling through time,

This world we now embrace,

The reality we face,

Composed of empty space.

In freefall,

Through the universe,

Of atoms we are made,

A shimmering cascade,

An energized façade.

Each atom,

For a start,

With neutrons in the heart,

Electrons spinning in a sphere,

Flung high within their atmospheres,

Mostly empty space,

Mystery,

Deep mystery,

Whose meaning we can not face.

The matter,

That we stand upon,

Presents a solid face,

Appearance that appears to last,

Yet delicate,

So delicate,

We live around our solid ground,

Which is much more frail than glass.

Electrons,

Of each kind,

In likeness form a bind,

As atoms form a tether,

And masses bind together,

Yet what if the energy of time,

Somehow suddenly unwinds,

And the electron force derails?

Allowing mass to fall through mass,

Into eternal depth to pass,

With speed increasing,

Never ceasing,

In horror unsurpassed.

Each atom’s charge,

Giving discharge,

Like a pricking from thin wire,

Yet through trillion atoms,

Forever freefall,

Burns like a lake of fire,

Impenetrable chaos,

Spinning out of control,

A repulsion of life,

Shutting out the light,

Tumbling through the fire,

In eternal midnight.

What holds us high,

Above such horror,

In our physical delight?

How much more delicate,

Our eternal souls,

Which transcend the night?

It is nothing but the heart of God,

The perfect strength of His hand,

The eternal bond of His true love,

The indescribable logic of His plan,

Even through difficulty of life’s pain,

To be with Him is my love,

Until pain is but a memory,

In Heaven’s entrancing joy above,

I know that nothing can change truth,

Nothing can dispel,

That to be with God is Life,

To be apart from God is Hell.

The Living Ghost

One moment within,

One moment without,

Facing faces of life,

Greeting the faceless,

Swimming within noise,

Drowning in silence,

The screams unheard,

Have never been born,

For what is recorded,

Has never before been,

For we live in the current,

Swimming a river of lives,

And those before us,

We can never see,

Those to come after,

We can see them born,

We cannot all be seen,

Within the river at once,

As time creates a barrier,

For our minds to understand,

For though we are all here,

This un-seeable division,

Masks those not in the now,

And with one tiny slip,

You have fallen through,

The barrier on both sides,

Silence is your friend,

In a world without voice,

No faces to be found,

Except within a glimpse,

Sleeping in the night,

Seen by startled eyes,

Trembling hand reaching,

Switches on the light,

Barrier in full force,

You disappear from sight,

Appearing before another,

Who sees right through,

You try to speak,

And nothing comes,

Your silent screams,

Remain in your lungs,

Shocked from sleeping,

You arise awake,

For it was a dream,

Or could it be?

For God holds us,

Within his hand,

A balance of physics,

For look at your feet,

On what they stand,

Mostly empty space,

Subatomic particles,

Just holding hands…

The Tearing of the Mind

I heard a mutual friend ask if there was any proof of "lunacy".  It suddenly struck me today that if there was pure factual basis, than we would be speaking of rational or irrational fear.  The lack of pure factual basis is a necessity of madness, the realm where doubt and uncertainty rule over reality. 

There it is above you,

Hanging in emptiness,

Millions of tons heavy,

Suspended upon nothing,

Within the cold darkness,

Circle of glowing white,

Within the dark of life,

Glowing upon the night,

On this path blowing,

In moon light knowing,

The light sees your deeds,

Wind whispering accusations,

Rising above screams of silence,

Endless shouting in your head,

Demons born and never dead,

As the fog curls smiles,

Onto shadow faces,

While misty arms draw you,

Into unknown places,

A hand clasps your shoulder,

Extended from your reflection,

As you turn and see your eyes,

Staring into your soul,

Grinning without mercy,

Without lips to form a smile,

For were these deeds your own?

You no longer know your reason,

The voices show you pictures,

Your actions do you see?

Or are you looking at me?

Seeing into my eyes,

As I reach into your world,

With the moon extended hands,

Delicate enough to stir reality,

Within the confines of your soul,

Yet with strength to grip the waters,

Raising them into dark tides,

Rolling above your head,

Silencing your screams,

While voices whisper will,

For will holds onto voices,

Of those who are beside you,

As God placed us all near,

To strengthen and to hold,

Against the tearing of the mind.

Chaos Theory

There are factors in reality,

Set components unchanging,

Which can be found in life,

Everywhere around us,

Within the weather,

Comprised of heat,

And also moisture,

Comprised of cold,

And also dryness,

Yet the appearance,

Is never predictable,

As is with mechanics,

When things happen,

Which were not foreseen,

As with all people,

Within the art of living,

As we are of soul and heart,

And we are of flesh and blood,

Yet our behavior is curious,

In the things that we do,

We have created order,

In our orderly ways,

Living lives by schedule,

In the world we created,

Yet what is the reality,

Of the world which we live?

Is the order we create,

Only in our minds?

For we are drowning,

Dry upon the sands,

We are falling up,

To strike the earth,

We are deaf within,

A constant noise,

As we live peacefully,

Within our fears,

For this is Chaos,

Misunderstood,

With the key to peace,

Held in our hands,

To know there is reason,

To feel there is meaning,

With a Creator in creation,

As the source of life,

And the reason of love,

For the action of love,

Is releasing of fear,

Bringing us peace,

Bringing us hope,

Knowledge of things,

We cannot see,

Freed from chaos,

We gain truth.

The Cosmic String

 

For it can be told,

In the seeing of things,

That there are energies,

Surrounding all life,

Flowing from the stars,

And burning from the heart,

So that among these forces,

As the theory does hold,

There is a force of energy,

Passing through all things,

Flowing through dimensions,

From one universe to the next,

And from tomorrow to yesterday,

Known as cosmic strings,

So far they are unseen,

Yet they fit into equations,

Yet what if these strings exist?

For what can pass through dimensions,

Seeing life from tomorrow to yesterday,

Making the impossible a possibility?

It is the energy known as thought,

Imperfect within our minds,

Yet perfected in the Creator,

For if God is perfection,

Then there is perfect thought,

Seeing through all barriers,

From beyond the gates of time,

Reality is not a boundary,

And faith becomes the river,

For all things are possible,

And bound together by God,

As love binds us all,

In the Cosmic String.

Ship of Bones

The thought came to me while driving, and the details materialized in writing very quickly.  This poem does explore a question through the genre of horror, as the title suggests.  The question is, if we each are not doing the unique and special things we can do, are we truly alive?

How could I awake,

If I am never asleep?

Can the nightmare end,

When it never began?

Underneath a sullen sky,

The sun is never setting,

A glowing red eye,

The sun is never blinking,

Always staring,

Staring at me,

Alone on the sea,

Upon a dead ship,

Trapped in still waters,

Trapped and not sinking,

The sun is not blinking,

The glowing red eye,

Is always staring,

Staring at me,

Yet I am in company,

They are with me,

But they do not move,

They always look at me,

With eyes long gone,

Always smiling,

No flesh to hide teeth,

Skeletons bleached white,

Populate this ship,

While the sun keeps staring,

Never blinking,

And I can not hear sound,

As if in a dream,

I can not hear sound,

Though I try to scream,

Nothing happens,

As into reflections,

Of broken glass,

I look to see,

What could be wrong,

I look and see,

My eyes long gone,

My mouth is open,

But far too wide,

And hanging low,

On thinning hide,

With bones protruding,

From tattered skin,

Up from behind me,

I see a grin,

Hand on my shoulder,

And hollowed face,

He comes to show me,

Unto my place,

With words of comfort,

Spoken so near,

"Come float forever,

We all float here."

Then from the horror,

Within this dream,

I awake in darkness,

From my own scream,

Then thinking well,

Into the night,

I saw that ship,

Alive in life,

With people whom,

Forgot to live,

And share the gifts,

Which they could give,

God gave us skills,

Wisdom and tact,

For in our lives,

We all must act,

To bring forth beauty,

Alive and true,

We all must do,

                                                                     What we can do.

Prayer of the Sleepers

In passing decorated cemeteries, where the living remember those loved,  I began to think of what they would tell us if they could.  What they would do if given another chance.  Of what a lesson that is to us, about how precious life truly is.  This picture is from Voyage of the Damned.  The girl is named Astrid, and took a job as a waitress on a starliner to see as much of the universe as she could.  The Doctor faced death to save the passengers lives.  Seeing who he was and what he was doing, she sacrificed her life so he might survive.  Shortly after her death, the Doctor attempted to use her biological coding saved in a transporter beam unit aboard the ship to reunite body and soul.  With the machine badly damaged, he could only bring enough of her back to kiss her goodbye.

There are voices,

Many voices,

Speaking night and day,

Yet they are not heard,

As common sounds,

But whispers to the soul,

From souls that lived,

Knowing pain and joy,

Knowing tragedy and triumph,

Trying to speak to us,

Yet as if in a dream,

Their voices are not heard,

No matter how they shout,

Waving their arms before us,

We walk straight through them,

For they are remembered,

With flowers upon stones,

As we hurry through our lives,

Within a constant race,

Making the same mistakes,

As if trying to reach the finish,

Before all of the others,

Yet perhaps even God,

Would wish us to tarry,

And so beneath His shelter,

I stop so I can listen,

Beneath the swaying trees,

I close my eyes to hear,

Voices speaking of love,

As children grew and left,

Of simple times and games,

Just conversing with parents,

Reaching out to a friend,

When a loved one has hurt us,

Not to simply just let go,

For love does not know,

How to say goodbye,

And the sleepers wonder why,

When we are given much,

Why we do so little,

For each day is a gift,

For us to use and give,

And if given the chance again,

They would give all they could,

For the secret of receiving,

Is to pour one’s cup to others,

And the mystery of life,

Is loving more each day.