Saturday, August 1, 2015

In the air

In the air                                                                                                    

Some never doubt – their faith inhabiting
their loneliness, the trick being not to move

a muscle, wrapped upon the kernel of themselves.
Some always doubt – never alight; never ensnared,

they ask their lonely selves the questions – rarely God.
Only when their throats are broken; too exhausted to jump

to another conclusion do they settle near the brink,
only to soon flap away again at a handclap starting,

flushed in the air, in the air, in the air
where hovers the illusion of autonomy.

O child of God, there’s no rest
except in death and surrender.

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