I don’t understand you God. I may never understand you.
The breath of every waking moment
is breathless upon me—
friction within me erupting
and ejecting in pursuit of young wisdom.
All was forsaken in pretense
when devotion was scorned—
subjugated by adoration
pinned on walls—
halls of pictures
of the men who
traced their abomination
before they could speak—
of the abomination to which
they pledged their hearts.
They are pleading now—
screaming from golden
picture frames—
imprisoned—
I see it! I see it!
But she walks—
wiser—
against cherubim beauty
she walks and scarce
can contain,
but knows she must—
walking, pulling, stretching
the length of the corridor
to its microscopic end.
Cries of remorse receding—
silent and quiet until they
were always mute.





