That’s the Spirit

Am I spiritual you ask
Now here I must take you to task
What mean you for heaven’s sake
I know of head and belly ache
Do you infer belief in God?
A proposition I find odd
On bended knee in fervent prayer
In hope that this time God might care
And with averted eyes beseech
The promised land be in my reach
Be pious, poor and all alone
Far bleachers to a mighty throne
Eschew this all too fleshy fief
Or damn me to eternal grief
That I must aim for life past this
Feel guilty when it hurts to piss
 
Should I become a voiceless monk?
And rid my life of all my junk
Would then I see my shining path
Or failing that, improve my math
Or offer alms and other bribes
Find fault with all competing tribes
Or proffer to a preaching man
The coin he asks to show God’s plan
And raise his house so heralds hark
And maybe an amusement park
 
Might mediums my spirit call
For cash they claim the wherewithal
To séance (and some uncles too)
To summon up the long dead you
Or should I trek to Mandalay
Meet Peterman along the way
Or maybe inhale scented smoke
Or find my missing self in toke
Or take a spiritual retreat
Make nebulous what’s been concrete
Perhaps repeat hypnotic chant
And mumble superficial cant
Or seated, cross my legs and hum
‘Til I feel bliss- though not my bum
Well save me from this spirit stuff
It’s naught but metaphysic fluff
 
 
I have a brain that can be known
From it, a mind where reason’s grown
That signals move my hands and feet
And makes me loud or more discreet
That governs all my daily chores
That livens things or simply bores
That keeps me curious to learn
And calmly teaches to discern
Instructs that I should see and care
And whispers not to fail to dare
Inspires art or plans a goal
And if allowed, would craft a soul.
 
But my one chance is real and now
To grasp what time and health allow
To eat and love and never pray
“Now let us sport us while we may.”
And marvel that we’re here at all
At how the strings and genes did fall
And thus Lucretius marked the score
“Atoms, void and nothing more.”
So while I wait the bell to toll
I’ll feed my mind and not my soul.
 
Paul Heno Copyright September 22, 2012 
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