I can't begin to tell you
A peace symbol, a day-glo faded poster
tacked to the shed's raw interior wall,
thorns worming through the cracks;
baby food jar lids screwed
to the underside of a shelf:
rusted bolts, nails, screws,
gaskets and washers
someone once had faith
would one day fasten and secure
something of value, utility
like the bucket hanging from a winch,
pooled water in the well's bottom,
twisted by the breeze at rope's end.
Peace at last. Peace at last. Peace at last.
I get it wrong implying simple abandonment,
disuse, a quelling, thwarting but not quite,
and words are all I have
even as I have lost faith in words.
I can't begin to tell you, nor could you hear,
how misguided I've come to believe
are all our various quests
and human endeavors.
O child of God, you cry out for peace
while unwilling to walk the necessary path.