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We are told:
"Believe in God! Seek God!"
Yet, have we not murdered him?
Blood of the divine is all over the floor:
The reason for His death, our neglect.

Holy, did you just flinch?
Did you by any chance think
I was spouting nonsense?
Nay, fool. 'Tis true!

You say you believe,
yet forget what your God is:
He who demands praises.
What did he get, however?

Reflect, and you shall see:
I love my cellphone
I achieved victory myself
God is but an excuse against Reason

You horrible demon.
All but fallen to hypocrisy without you realizing.
Yet, God is merciful, even in death
For he who died did not bother saving himself:
He willed your freedom

He left a note to me, however, saying:
Intelligent human
You who killed me
Life is all but meaningless now
But you--
You are now God. You are now life's meaning
*This I grant, as I forged you in my image

Love, O love!
Oh, what must I do!?
How can I cleanse myself
Of the guilt?

Explain

Okay: I love three women!
What? I am but one entity! A unifying symb--
Love, heed me:
The root cause of all this is not me, but Aphrodite!
I, a lonely soul, who preferred to wander in the darkness
Was struck by the arrow of her beloved instrument-- Cupid!
Famed for her accuracy, my heart was purged of all selfish, willful
loneliness- by an arrow!

Three?

Indeed! But let me continue:
Years passed since Paris fell in love with Helen,
that wound, never fully healed
Exacerbated, by the same culprit.
Wound became so grave
That an innocent woman became apparition in my eyes;
a manifestation of the departed Helen.
Damnation, however!
For this woman had enough gall- no--
it was my fault. We never were destined.

Enter, third.

Alles gute. The Love of my Will came.
Her name, Tiziana.
Small she may be, she is stout.
Resolute, admirable.
However, my wounds would not heal.
What must I do, Love?

O, what must I do?

Am die 24. März, sometime im der Zweitausend Jahren,
you held your farewell party;
invited sun, moon, house, ice cream,
me, friends: anything existent
and implored us
to bid your farewell.

Am die Morgen (24. May, 2012), you left.
Was was supposed to be eine guten Morgen
became a horrible dawn,
for it signified nothing less
than your nigh-permanent self-disappearance.

Now, am die Abend of 1. September, Zwanzig-und-vierzehn
I write this, in complete lament
Over the fact that
I could never accept your farewell.

9: 09 PM, you remain existent, indeed.
Reason cries out: LEAVE THIS VESSEL
Passion, retorts: You have long since left
Beauty mystifying
Lei, the unerring

Sorrow, O, Sorrow.
I no longer understand.
Have I gone mad?

Indeed, you may have.

You elusive woman, woe to you!
I say, woe--
Or do I mean it?
Can I mean it?

You who hide behind
This empty poetry;
Your presence damns me,
Your mystery confounds me.

Rational, I may be.
But, like that Transcendent Being (God, My GOD!)
I cannot hope to define you.

In all my interest,
I am all but left,
with the torment, the pain..
Of having to accept
The fact that I
may never know you fully.