Wednesday, September 9, 2015

All over the world it seems like we have citizens deciding that blowing themselves up is better than trying to lead a decent life. Most of these people are physically healthy and young enough to perhaps accomplish wonderful things.

The decision to kill or maim themselves, and as many others as possible, is a phenomenon that I don’t understand.

Contrary to the popular narrative, I think these people have lost their sense of religion. They have reduced themselves to robotic slaves willing to plunge the world into eternal darkness. I don’t understand how a creator would wish this upon such a wondrous creation or be pleased with those trying to do it.

Can they really believe that turning our planet into a nuclear waste dump is what life is all about? Does any real religion truly have as its objective to blow small children into pieces?

There are so many miraculous, wonderful things going on every day across our planet. And yet we all seem to focus on the negatives. Angry people hate other angry people and our humanity is gradually destroyed.

In the end, no one finds answers in carnage. Those that try, are like stones spit up from the bowels of the earth. They spend eternity oblivious to the beauty and wonder that is part of creation: instead becoming unseeing and unknowing parts of the fire and brimstone that is the total substance of their existence.

I wrote Two Moon Night (In the Cat’s Eye, Snap Screen Press, 2009) to describe what that world might look like when the monsters were free to roam on one particular evening. Are we really heading for a world where the monsters triumph every night?

Glenn K. Currie

                        Two Moon Night


The devil dances, on the two moon night,
His breath’s cold vapor, freezing in the light.
And a ghost moon rides the fog’s thick back,
Searching in the darkness for fugitive’s tracks.

He dances, dances, dances,
When the ghost moon rides the sky,
And the forest fills with empty souls,
Searching for a place to lie.

Treetops bend to the banshee’s scream,
Timber wolves gather by lava streams,
Red coals burn beneath tainted ground,
Waiting for those the ghost moon found.

He dances, dances, dances,
Across the two moon night,
Stealing through the luminous fog,
Blocking out the light.

Forest beds in decay, collect the purged debris.
Tattered shades, drawn this day, mourn what used to be.
 Reapers rise from below, sweeping up remains,
As two moons light the devil’s dance, o’er his dark domain.

He dances, dances, dances,
Fanning the rising flames.
While two moons search the shadows,
On the night the devil reigns.