In mortal frame, passions withdrawn, I stand
Ever silent, cold and weeping
As man of mud and dust, black soul, dark land
Claim inner flame, mind still sleeping
Triumphant over human flesh, exalted
I sit dreaming, preaching, shouting
Of life beyond where sense is halted
Knowing, seeing, face death without routing.
Yet think of what it means to be
Men composed of flesh, bone and blood merely
Whose thoughts still ring, whose eyes still see
Who can dream, and feel, and think despite me.
Transcendant, foolish, too eager to fade away
I lie, wishing for a life that I once could not stay.
Atheist Identity and How We Are Treated
9 hours ago