Cryptochild

I wove these smoky dreams for you to weep on
Though at the start I had no such intent,
To be so dark in thought and decision,
To sear the sacred meaning of the Lent

Devils marred the roads with cults and money
Judas friends cemented pain and hate,
Lovers wandered off to other cities
And fists of wilting daisies sealed my fate

Still there is a fragile candle burning
A window of crimson glass stained with truth,
Of precious words that long ago I clung to
When kneeling at the altar and the booth

Sometimes I see a Gabriel or Mary
The blood dripping from her golden hand,
Then scarred arms remember something hidden
At the river in the grass and on the sand

The holy train has carried you uphill now
To where the water pours out over stone,
I do not understand how you could die
For each of those who left you all alone

Now the trestles rust and timbers burn
The valley mountain trembles deep within,
All the drunkards play the lonely jukebox
Like the trend of causing death is setting in

Far from there I weave my smoky dreams
And though you weep I had no such intent,
To become a pillar of salt or Doubting Thomas
To be so dark, so bruised by malcontent.

~Heather Lenz

(this poem first appeared in Poetry Victims)

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