POEM: A Reckoning

I find respite in the restlessness,
the faceless bow
Going in circles, on and on,
on and on. Anon.
Following the roads that follow back
to this place I never really knew.
I mount on a steed of nostalgia,
ride to memories
I never had, but run I do,
Running only where I can crawl
Crawling only where I can run
Haunting where I could dwell,
Dwelling where I could haunt
I become the god and the subject
The marble and the sculptor
The church and the cornerstone—
I’m the faith that’s broken
By a congregation that won’t bend
I’m the sun that dies for the moon—
I’m the echoing silence of Reckoning,
I’m tortured and torturer,
I don’t know what has become of me?
Or if there was even a me to become?

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