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When I Beheld The Face Of God (A Comedic Poem)
When I was but 500 fortnights old, still in my prime but bold, I had grown weary into the night. Beside me in my bed rest my muse, sleeping soundly and tinkering with the thoughts of wise words to aid me in the tales yet written. Facing the reality that it was late, accepted my fate and went to rest beside her.
Then I dreamed within a thousand dreams, I flew past millions of stars and hundreds of nebulas before I was brought into the presence of The Maker, The Bringer of Life and The Conqueror of Death; who made every strand of fur on the back of every fox and the very atoms he so carefully designed. The very feeling of being before him was beyond the mortal things of this life, a mix of benign and terror, uncertainty and trust, it felt like you were in the core of a sun beyond measurement and yet you would shudder in cold fear.
He had no form, no body and no fur, nothing of comparison besides that He looked like a nebula unknown yet felt like there was nothing material about; no sign of aging or decay as if He had always been that way.
He had no face yet I felt as if all the eyes made from the dust of Adam to newest born glared upon me. I felt as if a deep abyss had swallowed me whole and was holding me together while tearing me apart. It made me feel worthless, it made me desire with all of my fiber to be worthless. Yet the more He glared He glared with compassion, empathy, understanding, gladness, and He beheld me like I were of utility to His plan.
"Tremble not, my child," A voice of a thousand tongues said, sounding like one, "I have brought thou into My presence so thou mayest have hope flood thy heart. Ask of me what thou willest."
A new feeling filled me, a feeling that was hard to tell from either doubt or faith; was this Lucifer in the form of his liege or was this truly The Father of All? If the former, I mustn't let myself fall into this snare which he had prepared for me. But if the latter, was I now in the very Presence of God, doubting his being? What will become of me? So were the fanatical thoughts of mine, the more it tried to think of scriptures to aid one way of thinking or the other. At the end, I determined to put Him to the test of whether He were truly of divinity I allowed myself not. Rather, I simply asked the only question that had clouded my mind, hardened my heart, and made my days dedicated to searching for an answer: "Why?"
The Maker shined brighter, that I could only say felt like that of when a loved one you hold dear smiles at you affectionately, and He answered simply in the voice of ethereal identity: "כן"
I awoke right after this, and found my muse looming over me curious --I assume having disturbed her slumber-- but with a simple yawn and a little scratch behind her ears, she fell back to sleep and nestled against my neck with a purr. Tired once more, and feeling the warmth of my beloved I dosed off again and dreamed no more.
Suspended disbelief- temporarily allowing oneself to believe something that may or may not be true, especially in order to enjoy a work or critique of fiction.
Hope you enjoyed the writing/art work you've seen, *Please* leave a comment, it'd be much appreciated! Thanks. 
"Art is born out of an ill-designed world." "The allotted function of art is not, as is often assumed, to put across ideas, to propagate thoughts, to serve as an example. The aim of art is to prepare a person for death, to plough and harrow his soul, rendering it capable of turning to good." -filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky, on what the purpose of art is. 
Category Poetry / All
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Size 964 x 867px
File Size 225 kB
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