Ein Sof

Did you design this all
as some strange experiment
to observe an existence
you could not comprehend?
Eternity encircling itself
and then back again,
unable to arrest your momentum.
The beauty of the moment
was a word on the tip of your tongue.
Ever reaching, never grasping,
and always… that was you.
Always.
Eternity.
Ein Sof.
What did you lack?
Unbeholden to time, to injury,
or sickness,
what did you know of insufficiency?
Did you think
it would nobly accept its
finite and frail disposition,
content with the moment?
No. It turns upon itself in terror,
like the wolf that gnaws through its leg
to escape the trap.
We awoke from nonexistence
to the terrifying diagnosis:
terminal from the moment of conception.
What was it you were lacking?
We call it emptiness.
Pointlessness.
Vexation of spirit.
Do you understand now
or was this not enough for you
to end the experiment?
Is our suffering not enough?
Were you waiting for
the miasma of despair
– that stench of religion and addiction –
to soak into the millennia?
Were you waiting for the bodies
from holy wars and suicides
to fill the graveyards and hidden places?

Or did you turn away in horror,
long ago?