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,
hugging their knees, wrapped

upon the kernal of themselves.
Some always doubt; never alight;

never ensnared, they ask
their lonely selves - 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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