Jesus is my shadow
Not seen or heard
Lingering close behind me
His presence is cold and washes over me
Says my devoted followers
They sit at my feet
bent so I read their spines
They peek out- hunger, anger, fear- starving
If God is real, why do I hurt?
I pray over them
I am The Lucky One.
A dependable god they called me.
In hard times
I would be a Messiah
my faith, a church, me strung up on the cross
Ropes burning
My house across the river sturdy
but the bones dissipating beneath my cold raw feet
The water drips
The fire does not extinguish
I’ve walked the road from the burning church
To a home that can no longer hold me
Where does my faith belong?
The distance between
the ashes of the church and the remnants of my home
Stretches
Both out of reach
prayer only finds me
in the most desperate times.
times like these.
Now I wander,
Searching for somewhere to place my faith
but my return is soon awaited.
I am The Lucky One, and being lucky is quiet work.
