implanted word,
a faith seed
from where
the end of the
world has broken. off,
jagged spires
shoot sideways
into the space
between reason and faith. stabbing
at air,
pointing to stars, as the overflow
of the world
piles downward,
screaming with
the agony of a thousand wounded children,
am i among
these?
can
i hear the broken cry,
the awefuul
movement of the oppressed,
looking into a
black sky,
a no-star
night—why
must Your clues
be so hard to find for so many?
(and me)
i am balancing
on the spires edge
and talking as
i take a step
into the
blackness…
oh God, i wonder,
do i really believe this?
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