A poem called "The Reverent Silence in the Church of Bedroom"

The Reverent Silence in the Church of Bedroom

The room is cluttered full of things –
Shelves and books and clothes and machines,
And in the centre lies the holy bed

Upon which I am sprawled.

I am focusing on the holy screen
And I can feel my eyes drying out
And I can feel my body cramping up
And I can feel its natural suppleness beginning to diminish within the confines of this space.

A wise man once said to me:
“Look out the window to prevent myopia.”

Outside the window, I find it wet and green,
Full of grass and trees and lovely scenes;

In fact, an entire world’s outside!

But to go there, one must always get up.  

When I look back inside the room,
The walls appear to have closed in around me,

And my mind is spurting aimless thoughts
Like a broken high-pressure fountain.   

I wonder if I can express myself…
Shall I write a didactic story?

Shall I paint a symbolic picture?
Shall I write an essay on the nature of this modern existence?

But who would give the slightest care?
And what the fuck is the point?

…

Perhaps the Lord in his infinite wisdom
Has a solution for my vexing qualm.

I ask him: 

“Lord of the 21^st Century,
What do you suggest I do?”

“…”

“If you have nothing to say to me, God,
I shall spend my days in prayer;
I shall worship you by the laptop altar
And its luminous electric screen.”

“…”

“Ok, sorted.”

…

In the silence of the holy room,
In the flickering Facebook light,

In the scrolling up and scrolling down,

I am born again.