The Atheist Poem by Jim Young
The Atheist
Ultimately, we stand alone,
at a point in space and time,
surrounded by the blackest thought,
with no welcome light or sign.
All comforts so craftily constructed,
by a mind to ease the pain,
have simply come to naught.
Thankfully, as I blank that black,
I realise that I will never look back,
nor pass this way again.
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/24/2024 4:14:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
