Silk around my neck
I love the feeling
Now gently squeeze
Squeeze till there's a blur
Above me are beams
From a table,
I fix the silk around the beam
And attach it to my neck
I almost jumped
Thorns twisted to make a crown
Appear on a man
Sadness for him pierced my heart
I removed the silk from my neck
Knelt down in tears
Through my tears and sorrow I prayed
Christmas lights blind me as I walk down the street
Don't feel like Christmas
Not with my toyshop, my little business shut down
Picking up cans of soup and beans and bags of fruit was the task of the day
Now I walk
Craving beer
Afraid once I start I wont stop
Of course I can't afford the stuff no how
So I walk
Walked till my legs bout gave out
Needing rest, I followed a man inside a church
The interior painted my soul, dark
Turns out the man I followed was a priest
"God be with you, my son"
"God ain't with me, lost everything this year. Can't even afford food."
"Yes, hard times are upon us, but Our Lord weeps with us."
He lit a purple candle on the alter
"People rarely come to church, I fear this place may shut down."
Together we shed a tear
His agony and mine weren't too different
"That candle I lit represents hope. People out there are celebrating consumerism, not Christmas. In hear we are awaiting the birth of Christ."
Hope
I cower in my house
Afraid to acknowledge my faith
I sowed a tiny crucifix and a miraculous medal in the ligning of my coat
The whispering wind tells a tale of an old man taken to the hospital
He was beaten nearly half to death for praying the rosary in public
I knelt down and cried
Is that the extent of my devotion to Christ?
In my shame, I walk the beaten path, rosary in hand asking for Our Lady's intercession
I pray in silence, but I do it in public
Maybe the fire will grow in me and the faithful rise up to set fire to the world
It's 45 degrees out
The coldest morning of early fall
In the far left of the field,
The players kneel along with their coach
And ask for the blessings of our Lord
What is it about me that makes people run?
The polite questions and pleasant hellos are for them
When I ask a question, any question it never seems to get answered
The walls swallow me whole
No since screaming
No one will hear me
The Holy Spirit comes to me in the rain
And reminds me of my friends in heaven
Suffering is good
Righteous
But how do we know when its not working?
When our suffering fills us with hate and doubt
When we turn inwards because it's safe
When suicidal thoughts consume us
When we seek the approval of others and not God
Bombs are getting more frequent
The crops are failing, the animals are dying
I dream of flying
Seeing the world at my feet
Up there it is peaceful
At eight years of age, I am comfortable with the possibility of death, so long as heaven awaits me
With a defeated face and a hopeful heart
We walk, mother and daughter to the shrine
My father built it, a the priest was house arrest
Kneeling on pebbles we pray the Angelus each day
Asking Our Lady to stop the war
Most days I don't see the point
But at eight, I don't have the wisdom of a priest, a sense of duty like a father, nor a heart like a mother
