These flowers, these petals, they do not belong to me. This fragrance, this essence, they do not belong to me. The soft Earth, the auburn sky, they do not belong to me. These paths, these rivers, they do not flow for me. My mind, my heart, they do not belong to me. The world owns too much of me. Only my soul is free.
The house of God refuses to grant me refuge and my demons will not have me.
How did I get to this place – in front of an alter with nothing to pray for? Scraped knees don’t make for good posture. With no evils to be exorcised, what I am left with is just bloody limbs and a hollow hope.
These halls of prayer grant me no solace. Curved ceilings and the stained glass only exist as reminders of the old.
I thought it better to seek refuge in the company of those who can no longer judge me. For graves don’t talk and the dead don’t hold accountable the living for their untold woes.
Like the death of a silent love. A love that lays quiet under an unmarked stone. A sin, no God could forgive and a deed no Devil could condone.
©Romancing Life, 2017
Roots of this discomfort were bred with our love. Sounds of pleasure easily replaced by an eerie silence. The night does not condone the sound of silent tears and the day cannot make to love to haunted smiles.