Blessed Are Those Who Doubt the Word of God

Blessed are those who doubt the word of God,
Opening their minds to what might be.
No literal truth is literally true,
Nor can one see unless one sees anew,
In lieu of faith observing faithfully
Each metaphor writ deep within each word.
Murderers would worship every word,
A band of cutthroats in the name of God,
Reasoning unreason faithfully,
Knights of night, whose end cannot but be
Unholy, though the righteous reign anew,
Sure as angels of what words are true.
Let wit and wisdom wonder what is true.
Inside, we face the being of the word,
Light lost within its depths, condemned anew,
Immensities as infinite as God
Trapped within the confines of "to be,"
However we pursue them faithfully.
Blessed Are Those Who Dwell in Utter Darkness
Blessed are those who dwell in utter darkness,
On whom depend the paladins of light.
Noon is not the time for exploration,
Nor can one sense but sheltered from sensation,
Intensely saturated with delight,
Embracing the black verge of nothingness.
Most abhor the thought of nothingness,
Abhor the grace of death, abhor the darkness,
Resisting the regalia of light.
Know that darkness is the fount of light
Underneath the fabric of sensation,
Source of salience, goal of exploration.
Longing is the cause of exploration,
Inherent at the heart of nothingness,
Luring one to look beyond sensation
Into the enduring truth of darkness,
The chaos at the coming of the light
Holding in its arms a doomed delight.
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