The scriptures of the heart

The scriptures of the heart
 
Standing on the carousel,
having ditched my golden steed,
 
looking outward at the spinning world,
(as usual) expounding to the crowd. 
 
My incoherence met with glazed eyes, quizzical brows.
Every written word I once practiced
 
and preached as gospel, I now profess
to be beyond my ken, beyond my authority to espouse.  
 
Each time-worn ritual, sacred icon striking me now
as rudimentary, external and conceptual;
 
the preparatory substitute for a genuine, 
interior communion and fealty.  Maybe it’s humility
 
that has stolen my tongue or perhaps, futility,
as round and round I go, amidst the glaring lights,
 
the distant shouts and clamor of the midway –  
the hawkers, the carnies and the rubes.
 
O child of God, turn your back on this gaudy world
and endeavor to read the scriptures of the heart.