Anxious Ground

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The fear of death creates God  in the anxiety of the mind and thought.

A chill wind whispers through the shadowed trees,
A tremor in the heart, a whispered plea.
The fragile thread of life, a fragile thing,
Unravels in the darkness, swift and winging.

A looming void, a chasm deep and vast,
Engulfs the soul, a shadowed, silent cast.
The unknown future, veiled in endless night,
Inspires a fear, a chilling, primal fright.

And so we turn from what our senses know,
And plant a seed where other visions grow.
A distant whisper, stories to unfold,
A being vast, a power to take hold.

The mind, a canvas painted in despair,
Projects a refuge, banishing all care.
In anxious dreams and visions half-revealed,
A phantom hand, a comfort to be healed.

Yet what if that same dread, so sharp and stark,
Could light a fire instead of finding dark?
What if the truth of life's precarious span
Could bind us close, and make a better plan?
For in the terror of the unknown's embrace,
A new awareness finds its sacred space.
Not in a distant promise, built on sand,
But in the touch of a human, living hand.

In shared laughter, tears, and work well done,
We see the meaning underneath the sun.
The fleeting time, a gift beyond compare,
No longer a curse, but a love to share.

The fear of ending, a force that now compels
To build a world where genuine meaning dwells.
So let the wind whisper, let the shadows fall,
We have this moment, to stand and give our all.
For in our presence, in our shared, mortal breath,
We find a purpose more profound than death.

The fear of death creates God  in the anxiety of the mind and thought.

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