I attended a book club last night and we were reading C.S. Lewis' book ,"The Screwtape Letters." In the book Screwtape, an older demon giving guidance to a younger demon, says that the worst thing that can happen to a human, and the easiest way to lead them to hell, is to get them to do things the find no pleasure in just so they do not have to think about God.
As we were reading that passage it gave me a vision of that kind of life, if an existence can be called such. The result is the following poem.
The Insensate Mind
Staring into the cold hearth
Long bereft of flames
The chill of the room
Unnoticed, unfelt
Thoughts, a perdurable loop
An infinite repetition of naught
Devoid of joy
Pleasure long since lost
Pain is meaningless
Nevermore felt
Apathies gelid fingers
Have quelled all emotion
Endless twilight of the mind
Stoic countenance
Light is a phantasmic vexation
Darkness espoused without pleasure
Unhasty,unnoticed
Time unmeasured
Carries the mind to nullity
The spirit to utter vacuum
What is life to such a soul
Unseeing, unfeeling, unhearing
Devoid of joy, bereft of love
Without even bitterness
Without even despair
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
