Barely Avoiding Zarathustra Poem by Leo Briones

In the sullen darkness
it has come to this—
the fog and haze
stand between us and eternity.
We wonder
what if Nietzsche had it right
and Romantic temperament,
is but a castle built
upon the sand of sentiment.
And we
like spoiled children
seek Mother’s milk,
or Father’s steady hand,
only to grovel and beg
for more porridge.
So through this fog,
beyond this haze,
babes on Judgment Day,
we kneel before a white throne
made of pearls and sunlight
and cry like wounded lambs—
knowing
we were never Supermen
nor for a second
believed that God was dead.