Skyglass
I am sure there used to be a time
when divine providence
was.
Unquestioned.
Miraculous.
Subtle.
A simplistic, intrinsic mystery
like rain to grass.
yet
creeds whispered
on dusty scrolls
led to the exile
of truth...
banished
to the confines of a temple:
watered down,
rusty,
ruminating,
longing
for arduous redemption.
Entombed
by doctrines,
raveled
by rhetoric:
Pushed down like a seed
while fear grew like ivy
over cut stone windows
stained in dark hues.
Buried and
reminiscent
for genial gifts of light and air,
that smack eagerly against the clammy stone
as life’s breath chokes
and salvation’s flower refuses
to bloom among the brown grass.
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