Midnight Garden Grudgery

Sheldon Ruins at Night

 

I want to believe.

But you make it hard, what with your two sided mouth
And your multi-dimensional passages,
And the idea that original sin is somehow all on me and never on you,
Even when your pants are down…
Even when my chest is pressed to the floor.

Somehow, you still manage divinity
As you brandish the reed that tears open flesh,
And cast your recriminations on my shoulders as if I should be so lucky
To look up just long enough to catch a glimpse of hope,
Before you decide I’m not worthy your salvation.

But who the fuck told you I needed your consent
When I see what you do with power and sanctimony
When I hear your truths that ironically manage to reek of sacrilege,
When you command I bow to you,
And I reply where you can shove your scepter.

No, I want to believe…

In divine love and grace, in the blessed,
In a salvation that is blind to pigment or facade,
In an intrinsic spirituality that embraces me
With no regard to my human errors
Or the seeded sin I carry in my involuntary DNA.

I need to believe in a Power that didn’t preconceive
Me as a tempestuous toy with circuitry
Created merely to appease your whims
Nothing more than a silent (but grateful) fucktoy
Who requires periodic breaking.

I want to believe,

In an all-knowing and unseen,
But I cannot believe in anything that creates
Both our souls with one breath
Before handing you the keys to my undoing.
Before giving you the bullets to your gun.

I will not believe in anything that exalts you.

And I pray I break you when I fall.

 

JW ©2018

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