The Witching Hour
abecedarian
At 3:02 AM I googled nihilism (again), I thought you should know,
because crises of faith are getting really fucking old. I can't
continue to ascribe meaning to the nonsense of my soul as if it were
dimensional prose, fairytale archetypes scratching against a mind's shuddered window,
eternally unknowable. I'm surely not pure love playing chess with human
foibles, because—if so—that just seems like, really, fucking
gratuitous. Of god. You follow? 3:15: "Freedom" from saṃsāra reads like a
hoax to provoke virtue in a world of shadows; moksha’s a carrot dangling
in a high window. Divinity sailed farther than our loudest prayers can go; we've always been
jetsam tossed out of heaven to lighten the load. Words slashed last edit,
"kill your darlings," and all. You don't condone the suffering they bestowed. That’s why I
love you, and a nihilist wouldn't, I suppose. Or she
might, but then—lo and behold—one afternoon, reading
Nietzsche, gulping marshmallow tea at a bus stop—pauses, looks
out over the road, decides love is fleeting and hollow, leaves,
probably dies old and alone. I could never be that bold. 3:53.
Querulous still. Nihilism disowned. Perhaps it's time to dethrone
righteousness, though? Maybe it's their war of sanctioned morals that
stirs discord in us all. Goodness should just flow, like when you've awoke—made coffee,
took trash out, "goodmorning love," eyes warm and exposed—this
urgency, every night my bedfellow, once again... mellows. (Oh,
vicissitude of my moods) 4:00: Tomorrow, show me
wisdom. Rock me to
Xanadu on the throne of
your lap; riverboat to
zen.
About the Creator
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OF MOTHERHOOD.
Dear mother-to-be, I wanted to let you know how very, very special I think you are. I don't think there can be any job that is more meaningful than the one you are about to begin, that of being a mom. You are the most important person in the world to your precious unborn baby, and you will be for many years.
By Catherine Nyomenda4 days ago in Writers
Comments (8)
I can’t relate to this cynicism because I had to form an optimistic narrative of epic proportions just to not unalive myself. I had to believe it was all for a purpose. I like how you came around in the end. Yes, wisdom. One of my favorite words. Wisdom can’t be taught or bought, only gained through examination of experiences. As always, your command of language has left me awestruck. 🩷
I love how you took the abecedarian form and made it a Miller classic. Loved this late-night train-of-thought stuff that ends with a nice bit of juiciness lol. Well done! Oddly...one of my abecedarian entries is about sleepless nights...though way more depressing and self-loathing lol.
Ah, those sleepless nights, tossing & turning, debating philosophies, the meaning of one's existence & what ought to be. When counting sheep doesn't work, try reciting the alphabet (or creating Abecedarian poems). Nicely evocative & resonant, Morgana. (Or perhaps I should say, "painfully" instead. Let's just go with "effectively", shall we?)
10/10 opening line.
Deep.
Beautifully written!!! All the layers, really caught the emotional spiral and raw emotional thoughts, loved it!!
This poem is a volcano of emotion and fire. I love the line - 'we've always been jetsam tossed out of heaven to lighten the load.' Bravissimo! Questions (curiosity only): Freedom from Saṃsāra... Freedom from wandering or karmic cycles? Moksha's a carrot dangling from a window... Emancipation? Release? or a rephrasing of the line freedom from Saṃsāra? I look forward to more of your writing!
A lot of depth in this! Well done!