”My body is my
temple”, he says, ”but I have
no Gods to follow.

No, the Gods are all
but there. The halls are empty,
the altar dusty.

There are no sermons.
And there are no followers.
And no mumbling monks.

No priests speak, and no
priests listen to the wailings
from the missing crowd.

There is no-one to
listen to, or to speak to.
Thus I judge myself.

But can I trust the
God that is I to know what
is my destiny?

Can I trust him with
the task of choosing my path
and guiding my feet?

Or am I taken
hostage by a complete stark
raving lunatic?

Sometimes I wish to
wreck my temple. Throw it down
a high cliff. Burn it.

Get a bulldozer
and push it into the ground.
Or just smack it hard.

Is this dubious
behaviour, or something that
happens all the time?

I don’t know. Can’t say.
And the silence after the
question – deafening.

Does anybody
know the answers? And if so
Does it matter?

Silence filled the air.
No-one moved, no-one spoke, and
no-one looked at him.

”Yes, a temple”, he
says, ”but there’s no worshipping.
I merely live there.”

I have no idea regarding exactly when I wrote it, but some time during 2007.