The sum of all suffering

I cannot close my eyes to the suffering in the world.
The cross of compassion compels my heart toward
the simple and the sick, to the lost and the lonely. 
The sum of all pain worries my weary soul and wears
away my innocent resolve to the edge of knowing.

When I hold my well-fed child, the cries of other
children, hungry and alone, a thousand miles away,
call out in raw voices that forever claw at my ears.
Their hunger opens the warehouse of my conscience,
but their pleas for prayers and penance are lost.

When I lay my head on a gathering of cushions,
my thoughts do not rest. My reverie is tormented by
visions of those weary souls who end on the streets.
I see their tattered ghosts, their sad imploring eyes.
But they fade gray away as I reach to comfort them.

There are times we must all suffer the trials of life,
 when fear and despair undermine our confidence.
There are questions and regrets that scornfully hang
over our heads, unresolved.  Not forgotten, but lost
in the cataract of confusion that claims us all.

© Chris Ernest Nelson 2026

If we are…

End of days

Everyone is born to live.

Everyone is born to Live.
Sadly, some choose death,
and die every day of their lives.
That choice is essential to exercise
the blessing of consciousness:
Free-Will.

But the death they choose is a little
death that passes when the Gates
of Paradise open to receive them…
along with every other living soul.
There is only one outcome
to the Act of Creation:

Perfection in Bliss.
Even as the Body experiences
entropy and death, the
Spirit is perfected in Eternal Life.
The Spirit enters into it the
way a river flows into the sea.

Yes, the mortal body,
and its persistent illusions,
will die in Time and Space.
But the Spirit remains forever
Alive in the sublime syntropy
of Absolute LOVE.

© Chris Ernest Nelson 2026

Ruins of our time

I will build a cathedral out of confusion.
I will write a promise out of lies and half-truths.
I will arrange my words to baffle and alienate.
I will argue to win on emotional grounds alone,
and I will not consider any opinion but my own.

I will take no heed of the waiting danger.
I will feed on your fears and your ignorance
I will not be the only casualty of moral suicide.
I will not be moved by your pleas or your tears,
and I will stand alone among the ruins of our time.

With an echo of triumph and thunder,
on the mountain top, at the burning bush,
I raise my staff above my head, and by my own
authority, I command the Faithless Sea to part.
Then lowering the rod, Pharaoh’s chariots drown.

I will not bind my love to your brute desires.
I will not sacrifice to your demons of vanity,
and I cannot escape your flesh devouring fate.
I will deny resurrection from my closing grave,
so that all my foolish misspent dreams can die.

© Chris Ernest Nelson 2026