“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.
It is the source of all true art and all science.
He to whom this emotion is a stranger,
who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe,
is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”
—Albert Einstein
Life isn't easy when you're dead,
there's always a thirst for creation.
Something nags behind the eyes,
the sun comes up, the sun goes down,
followed by and then there was
one day straight through the seventh.
On the seventh, the Sabbath, Levant,
or whatever it was, I never quite knew,
the sun comes up, most differently
and suddenly the heavens blow apart
above. Everything goes on about going,
bodies pass, get on buses and cars,
fuck in the seats, sit in the pews
of god only knows how many houses,
those fancy paned things men erect.
Some corners are empty, some not, a lot
are busy. Oddly, they never seem full
perhaps because too many yell so loud,
predicting second comings. Mostly
one learns to ignore it and others
save it in folders and stuff
in case it makes a poem.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Gorgeous & intelligent penning, my Friend...I've always said, much like the NRA slogan, "You can have my pen when you pry it outta my cold, dead fingers...& even then, I'm gonna fight ya for it." 
Good luck in Lisa's contest, Sweetie...This is the 3rd entry I've read today; I don't envy her task...
