Scraps of God’s work
Shimmer along the way as I shuffle
Homeward to a place unknown
To wanderers like me, not lost.
The familiar tarnishes the treasure.
Holocausts of Truth
Sear my conscience, drifting
Chernoblesque beyond the day’s
Mindful intentions, mindless moments.
Cloudy thoughts obscure the heavens.
Why so many christs
In a world bedeviled by mere mortals,
I ask as I protect my weary soul from
Their dusty Damascus roads.
Never sensing the piercing Light,
High priests of the written
Emboldened by their own way,
Shine the sixty six and self-evident truths
upon me to light a path I cannot traverse.
Salvation.
They cry for me. I for them.
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