Walking in the Woods with My Grandfather

My universe, orange and dead deciduous leaves,
Is coming to a short end,
A phoenix in the ashes of my faith.
I once knew whether this place came from nothing.

He knows
In his deranged mind.
He knows.
There are devils hiding inside of me,
And God was before the nothing.
Only a creator could have brought into existence this,
This black void of static and silence within me.

My grandfather, a man decided in his convictions.
He is too old, too certain
To see his beliefs fall from him
Onto a forest bed like mountain leaves
Preparing for a hard winter of agnosticism.

I am cold and fragile
In the spring of my life
But the fall of my knowledge.
Can I divide nothing into nothing
And still be allowed to make something of myself?

There is no answer,
No answer which is created from thin air,
That can have any grounding
In the here and now.

Here and now
Words of such force
Like trees falling in an empty wood
And resonating power over all that is.

I will be and am and was.
Moving forward toward a past of unbeing.
Dare I disturb the ripples,
Nay the wrinkles, that came before me
And walk beside me now on this bleak path?

Is loneliness destined to be the god of my seasons?

I am brittle and blown by the wind.