Cosmic Jumble Poem by Andy Brookes

who I wonder is this sad eyed creature staring back with enigmatic eyes?
someone once said that it was the creator looking out at his creation trying to workout what was this manifestation.

well if the creator can't work us out who the hell can
what's the point except making faulty images of the deity, images of that we define as a patriarchal God.

the creator is genderless or genderfull being yin and yang or male female an intersex if to you like.

wrong.

I am what I am the creator says.

great, more enigmas to ponder.

God or creator as a construct of the all knowing enlightened wisdom the Hagia Sophia.

No, we got that wrong, I think it's just as mixed up as we.

what we are left with is ultimate man constructed deity, our spiritual comfort blanket, a metaphorical thumb to suck, if you will.

God must have got very blurry as we made faulty copies of the prototype, flowing out of rain forest to sweep inexorably across the now not so green planet.

AH! CHILDREN OF THE FALL

so what you playing at I ask the creator, he smiles enigmatic always enigmatic to the nth degree which I have to say is tiring and boring at the same time

we are the ultimate experiment gone wild; our own monster, a Victor Frankenstein making ourselves come alive with a lightening bolt.

I sometimes wonder why.

then I think somewhere in the universality of the space time continuum is a mad person laughing maniacally at some great cosmic joke.

then I see the sad person looking out at me from the interior mirror of my being, realising he has no more idea, the creator, than me what it's all about.

I might as well go and masturbate in the middle of the street spilling my seed to the four winds.

the creator said now you know why and disappears leaving the image of a rather puzzled mortal staring back and I think you I've got the meaning of life.

THERE IS NO MEANING, and the universe is but the ejaculation of the creator.