cold mosaic floors of faith

soon before the bewitching hour
between the fourth and fifth days
my yearning heart asks twisted questions of my life
— how is it that my sunlit path
leaves iron clad shadows on my soul —
I pace the floors, accepting shards in my bare feet
taking tokens of foreboding to my bedchamber
but there, the chance for sleep eludes me
and I grapple with books of insomnia which grasp
my imagination, reincarnating my life
with a sense of spiced adventure…
then, emboldened by the wee hours of the night
I face my naked truths, exposed
like the innocence of a apprentice soldier,
in strangeness they tarry, only to disappear
in the soft silence of the dying wind
as the quagmire of my desires evaporate
into dreamless sleep — on the morrow
in a chapel lit by stained glass reflections
falling onto the cold mosaic floors of faith
I will pray to gods who have abandoned me
for answers which may once again
make my life swell with uniqueness


cold mosaic floors of faith
[2008.5.2…a]