I have seen the place where the world burns without flame, where faith and negation hiss like wires under snow. Static filled the air, and the old prayer rewired, the word God flickering on a broken screen. The Priest says God loves the hot and the cold, but spits out the lukewarm. So I practiced each in turn believing until I blistered, denying until I froze. Neither delivered me. In the paralysis between breaths, I met the whisper that calls itself absence. It spoke gently, almost with pity:
Elegant metaphor in temperature juxtaposed, humankind existing to resist both temptation and emptiness. We walk a fine line and carry that burden between dualities. Great poem!
First of all, great opener. Being lukewarm really is the worst. The word I learned for this, which I quite like is "milquetoast," which I should try to bring back somehow. Nice poem.
Elegant metaphor in temperature juxtaposed, humankind existing to resist both temptation and emptiness. We walk a fine line and carry that burden between dualities. Great poem!
That’s awesome you enjoyed it, thank you!
BOOM. And that's how we do it.
😁
First of all, great opener. Being lukewarm really is the worst. The word I learned for this, which I quite like is "milquetoast," which I should try to bring back somehow. Nice poem.
I read milquetoast and it makes me think of a soggy piece of toast—which is perfect
This is my kinda shit right here, Adrian!
😁
Bravo, Adrian.
Thank you so much, man. Really appreciate it! 🙏
This is an incredibly strong poem.
I loved this line below in the last stanza that really sticks the landing.
"But inside, the ember still argues,"
A transformative piece, Adrian!
Thank you so much Ricardo for your time, attention, and generous praise. I'm hyped this resonated with the you. 🙌
beautiful....
Thank you so much, Venus 🙏