×
welcome covers

Your complimentary articles

You’ve read one of your four complimentary articles for this month.

You can read four articles free per month. To have complete access to the thousands of philosophy articles on this site, please

Poetry

Sonnet

by Richard Hendon

All these epitaphs bring mortality
to mind, raising up philosophical
doubts. I glance at the clock: two thirty-three,
you’re going to be late, as usual.
Above, a weather-mellowed gargoyle grins
inanely down, with no feelings to hide
as the solitary steeple bell begins
to toll, and we all congregate inside.
The organ groans. You pass by, shoulder high,
deaf to pastoral talk of resurrection;
and remaining equally unmoved by
this metaphysical insurrection:
There is no God. Only your memory
remains, ephemerally part of me.

This site uses cookies to recognize users and allow us to analyse site usage. By continuing to browse the site with cookies enabled in your browser, you consent to the use of cookies in accordance with our privacy policy. X