Blank Prayer to an Absent God

i fall on your whispers. watching and weeping from a tear born out of your gut. eyes warm against the sky. an impossible medicine through the comfort of clarities. the sky hides our names. swirling stars bind our sights to a collapsing grid. wellness, repose. sleeping through noon and watching you escape into a small tomb. elsewhere, the admission of a troubled ripple dispossessing an illusion that devours itself from the tail to the starlight. our meaning was a gift from a voiceless manner, thunderous, sublime. with the power of a bone and a prayer, unnamed and bursting like passive dirt in a turbulence of dumbness and journalists who rule on smoke like a clorox lightening bolt. bursting with sureness.

bear out of iron the life we sacrifice to pain. the moon rules the excluded products of one hope one joy at a time. forgive us for what we loved. our gods, our graves our peace between the depth of stone and grass. the yesterday we bear like a cross that drives our backs into the ground. the noise that follows us until our hears are too heavy to bear. forgive our wasted youth. our children's tears and the clouds we make out of our eyes. we will rehearse our lives until the echoing possession poisons us in despair. oh god, i must believe in you. i've been bullied by fate. conceived in a corner. your legend sleeps in dark dreams mirored in the lives of a generation swallowing itself in the moisture of its own own desire. haunted out of its aimless appropriations. but why do i see like this? is it truth or projection? the devoured and stunned gather around a romantic's circus. like flowers on the graves of the lives we left behind.