A car radio
set to scan
in remote areas
far from stations
will crackle in bursts
interrupted by minute pauses
for hours as you drive:
small bastions of hope
appearing and disappearing
with every break in the aural snow.
You would gladly settle
for an evangelist out here
as you hurtle alone
through the dark
though you are no believer:
any voice would be welcome
no matter the message.
That, sometimes,
is how fanatics
are born.
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Dark Matter 
October 19th, 2010 at 2:37 pm
Interesting poem. It does lend itself to more than one possible explanation of spirituality. Not necessarily bored, but disconnected and without purpose.
October 19th, 2010 at 2:41 pm
Yup…I didn’t mean it to suggest it was the only explanation for it, just that for some, any voice may offer a place to shelter and find meaning.
October 15th, 2010 at 2:15 am
I read once that religions start witha bored man in the desert.
Peace,