The Silent Memory of God
This face you know and call by name, this voice you recognize
tarries but a flicker in this terran world, this time of our coincidence.
My life and all its memory, its consequence, its humble legacy
of all I have said and written and rendered for the eye to study and see
endures but a little while, here and there, in a tapestry of reminder
woven through all the lives who knew me, however briefly.
One day, my name will be spoken aloud for the final time in history
on the way to its forgetting beneath the stampede of humans racing on.
One day, no archive will continue holding onto any likeness of me
and this face you know will turn ghost, losing the last of any form.
One day, all of the words that I learned then arranged with my voice
will be scattered, randomized by the sad encryption of low priority.
This is the way of the material world, this vivid illusion of hard edges
in which the future holds the full center of attention. And the past?
The past gets garbled by lossy compression, condensed in a stream
that throws off detail and nuance and texture like sweat or steam.
This world will forget who I was. That I was. All I have done.
But even so, for as long as that will take to transpire and for ages
and ages beyond, on the day when Earth forgot that it forgot me,
I will go on.
The incomprehensible tongue that birthed this bespoke creation,
all of the immensity of its space and the constant flow of its time
made real by utterance in that tongue of the sacred genesis prayer,
setting into being all that was and is and everything that might be,
this tongue told the story of me with total recall and loving grace
It told my story and so do I become a volume in the akashic library
on pages that never turn brittle or brown, in ink that never fades.
My face, witnessed across the entire arc of its years in the living
dance of mortal life from one small shriveled scowl to the other,
will come alive again in every portion of the particulate universe,
an eternal facet of holographic form, found everywhere at once.
In the sacred space fashioned from a strange vibration of strings,
where divinity takes in the sight and the sense of all that unfolds,
there will I be seen and recognized and known forever.
About the Poem
This poem speaks about the loneliness that can come more readily in larger cities than elsewhere. The poem then
describes an appreciation of the ever present divine spirit from which I arose in life and to which I return after death. While my contemporaries may lose touch with me or forget that there ever was a person such as me, my faith in the divine leaves me comfortable and confident that in God's sacred universe, I am never overlooked or forgotten. Here is a video of this interpretation with David reciting the poem.
The Silent Memory of God: a poemThis poem contemplates the fact that no matter what we may do or create to give testimony to our lives after we have died, time will sooner or later move us down the queue of memory among human beings and human society. But for those who, like me, believe in God, there is one incorruptible memory in which our face and our name and our legacy will always be kept alive.View on YouTube
This poem is previously unpublished in print. This poem was finished April 22, 2013.