Stalins of Body and Soul
There is reason in faith and faith in reason.
They are not poles or foes, but cousins.
Too much drift from their common ground
breeds monstrosities, Stalins of body and soul.
The body has a soul and the soul has a body.
We are at once prodigy and worm.
We are wonderful chaos and lazy order,
too finite for divinity and too eternal to die.
I love and respect us so much.
I don’t trust us; I’m disgusted.
I peek through my fingers,
turned on and horrified.
Our Mt. Rushmores and arias,
our Louvres, our wars and rapes.
City skylines, the lightface of a child,
the grave, the hungry grave.