The Silent Temple

Eternity was eclipsed by doubt
and reason shone bright
in the darkened sky.
I saw for the first time
his dogmatic bones jut
from beneath a withering numinosity.
It was in that precipitous moment
of irreversible disillusionment
that I killed God.
A sourceless and awful cry
split the doctrinal foundation,
shook the cyclopean temple
of my adolescent subconsciousness.
I fell to my knees,
covered my ears
and closed my eyes.
When I dared to look again,
where his body had just been,
dropped an immeasurable chasm.
His corpse now suspended above it,
all flesh and bone disintegrated
like papyrus and parchment,
until only his heart hung in the air.
As if beckoning me, it hesitated,
then burst into flame,
and fell into the abyss below.
Away from the edge,
back into the temple I fled,
unaware of my atavism.
There, in reason’s cold and waning light,
shining through the shifted stones,
it was not the Devil that took God’s place.
What I heard ever after
was not the Devil’s laughter,
but ineffable silence.