I can’t begin to tell you
A peace symbol on a faded day-glo poster
tacked to the old shed’s raw interior wall,
thorns worming through the cracks;
baby food jars, lids screwed
to the underside of a shelf,
holding 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 high 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.
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