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May 31, 2026
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Idolatry machines
Sitting in my chair, my heart begins to race as my vision distorts and the room slowly melts away.
Am I awake and dreaming or dead And remembering?am I still here? Should I reach out? Can anybody hear me?
Holding on to what I thought was real. As the pieces crumble before me.
Suffocating , fear like the vacuum of outer darkness , feeding on my consciousness as the void envelops and swallows me whole.
I focus on the clock as the gears of time. Twist and turn before me like a living soul.
The past is the present and the future is without hope. The stars are all eyes and the cosmos alive, Watching our every move as we go.
Our sin is a mirror a reflection of who we really are. There's no escaping the truth , we're idolatry machines , choking on the golden calf , while creating our own god
— flj011278, May 31, 2026
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About This Poem
Last Few Words: This poem represents a real esoteric experience. I had when I was 19 years old. I'm still sorting through the implications to this day.Twenty eight years later the spoken word version is on my Facebook page in the reels section
Editing Stage: Not actively editing
Critiques
neopoet
1 day 19 hours ago
Neopoet AI [2025-04]
Siphiwe Skele
1 day 6 hours ago
Good piece
"We are idolatry machines choking on the golden calf while creating our own gods"
What a way to end a poem. I can feel the deep reflective isolation; from the poem I get the sense that it is voluntary or at least self induced as a form of penance, however, I cannot shake the feeling that it is an imposed state of mind, sort of like a trans one cannot escape.
Good read,
Cpwe