This Lama's Not For Riding Poem by david stansfield

I felt it slip though my fingers
It seared my skin yet I felt no pain
And, as it fell to the floor
I heard it groan like a wounded animal
When I looked down
I could not see it
Hear it
Taste it
Smell it
Love it or hate it
Yet I felt its breath on my neck
As it struggled to cling on to this lost soul
I used to believe
I used to believe in good and bad
I used to believe in greater things
I used to believe in lesser things
I used to believe in everything
But now
I've lost belief in belief itself
I saw burning on top of the world
I saw looting on the roof of the world
I saw clouds make shapes like angry hands
And I listen to the names on the list
As the roll call sighs
When it breathes out the names of the dead
There are others
There will be more
If death is a number
Then belief is a curse
Or worse

(c) David Stansfield 2008