New World (Part 8) – A Poetry Journal

4-25-22 – 1:19 p.m.

There needs to be divine justice for the world to make sense. Otherwise, our lives are meaningless, and the wicked get away with everything. I saw glimpses of redemption in my father’s face before he died. There were shards of light in his dark eyes that shined amid the hazy, drug-induced stupor.

There’s a part of me I don’t recognize. It’s the part I repress and push down; it comes bursting forth sometimes. The collective unconscious is very real, no matter what you may think. We are not blank slates, and we’ve lived many lifetimes before this one. Each soul is reincarnated and recycled.

All my movements have been foretold many ages ago. We think we have free will; this could be an illusion. And God, as much as we like to think that He is all-loving, could contain just as much darkness as the light. It is unified in a framework that keeps the universe from killing itself.

Once, when I was a boy, I wandered into a wooded area behind my house and witnessed a murder. The killer turned and saw me and put his finger to his lips to say, “Tell no one.” I saw this man every so often in the neighborhood. He was never caught, and he never will be caught.


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