How deep the cross has sunken,
bogged down in mire, blood sodden.
Tarnished idols, silver wrought,
Pittance price for heaven bought.

None now kneel, on rotten pews,
flock of many, gone like dew,
candles flicker, dimming light.
Mother church, brimming with blight.

Beyond the gilded marshlands,
Where the waves meet darkened sands,
the ground bones of gods long gone,
raised the dunes we orphans roam.

Prowling barefoot, starless nights
eyes accustomed, gone the lights,
free from shadows, safe from sin,
the shame, banished from within.

How does she do it?
How can she stand me?

I’ve driven needles through her heart,
So many times.

I’ve scorched and drowned the land,
Still, she takes me back.

I’ve let her wither in my silence,
And the coldness of my voice.

I’ve let the worries feast upon her,
But see her smile when I get home.

She’s known such cruelty from me,
And given anything but.

Still, where the world might see little,
There she finds the whole world.

Among twilight-tinted clouds, she roams.
On a trip, so overdue, back home.

Over dew-lined hills of green, she leapt,
unbeknownst to us who thought she slept.

Long removed from time and place, she stood.
Spinning tales, recalling names that no one could.

Every month, he'd bring her flowers to her bed,
Making up for things he'd done, things he said.

She was lucid for a while when we'd come by.
But I'd catch her staring blankly at the sky.

I was sad I got to see them ever less,
But I was glad they didn't know me as this mess.

Every day I'd go to Grandma's and play kid,
and she'd go looking for us, laughing, as we hid.

The sum of the toil will pay up,
You'll see once I'm set free.

My name, in their voices, uttered.
You'll hear once I'm gone from here.

My words on the shelves and headstones,
You'll read and the warnings heed.

Once I've doused these seeds with my blood,
You'll see how they'll turn to me.

Until then, I'll remain the unknown, the weird,
one more lamb in the field, one more cog in the wheel.

With unfazed gaze, we've stared
through screens, their screams, we've shared.
And weak, our wills have fared
when to those flames compared.

Another fire's now lit,
as one more throat lies slit.
Averted hearts are split,
and naught a course seems fit.

And those who hold the rein,
know not of grief or pain.
Unmoved their souls remain
as doom begins to rain.

Yet how are we to act?
when odds are all but stacked,
subservient to the fact:

Our world's been bled, *****, sacked.

The rinsed-out certainty of facts,
And played-out character of acts.
The milled down thoughts and weighted pasts.
Have left us barren, hardened hearts,

We’ve long sought meaning past that veil,
We mused all arts to no avail,
And all our senses we assailed,
But barring some, we all but failed.

Yet few found solace from the plight,
And went to God, in all but spite.
Fewer still found truth in rites,
And chanting songs by candlelight.

But others longed for all things bright,
The gilded, minted, stacked to height,
Yet found a grim new side to light,
Akin to Icarus in flight.

And still asunder our hopes lay,
Aspiring, writhing, in dismay,
All meanings lost within the hay,
Abound with needles, prickly, stray.

To the boldness of them,
may it never end.
Those who go in blind,
trusting you'll be kind.

For gifting a life whole,
to another soul.
For those who jump in hope,
others hold the rope.

To you brave of heart
muses to all art.
For whose love is raw,
I remain in awe.