Poem: Where We Go

Most of my regular readers, bless your hearts for sticking with me this long, are aware of my Obsession with the works of TS Eliot. His work, which is so ambiguous, requires me to explore through poetry the very things that possessed him. This poem I have written resonates with his Four Quartets. His curiosity, which was actually more of an existential dilemma, about time and redemption have also born in me am obsessive interest with the Divine being and where we fit in with his wildly eternal nature. So I offer you this circle; these words attempting to mingle our matter with the God of the universe. 
I hope it is enjoyable, at the very least in quality of sound, and at best, and attempt to place us, beings of mortal matter, in the shadow, but still substantial in the eyes of God.
I’m a little proud of the poem…but not because I think it is good, rather because I worked a word in, and you will know the word, that makes very few appearances in poetry. 
Where we go

Phantoms fill the catacombs

With questions and shadows,
Empty pits in the dark
Of the mind, of the body
But not the body, the void
Where emptiness is
Not empty, but full
Of soul, or dust, or bone
Or craving for answers 
Of the shadows beginning.
Where does the warmth go?
If somewhere; not nowhere.
There exists the somewhere
Of embers melted down
To ash;  not ash
But the charred urn
Filled with residue of fire
And fertilizer of another, decay
Feeding life with death
Or- Resurrection, eternal closure
With no ghosts in the air
Above the tombstones,
Or body beneath the earth,
The wads of paper bones
Dug up and burnt to dust
With no sign of a soul.
Where does the soul go?
If somewhere, not here,
Or there, above the mud,
Wretched and invisible
Seen beneath a black light,
Not like semen,
But like semen
Screaming life from a chromosome
Made of blood; not blood,
But blood of soul.
If blood and bone and soul go,
If  nowhere, not somewhere,
Where does the dust go?
 If somewhere, not nowhere,
Then there, it must be there
where the world implodes
And becomes dust, Omega
And Alpha dust,
With the undressing of their robes.
If dust is all,
And all that’s left
The end will begin
The end again,
And what remains of death
Is life, or dust- or both.
I welcome your thoughts!



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