Dismal Faith

Sometimes we're tested in fire while suffocating in flames,

can we sense beauty from the clutches of pain?

Sometimes I open the windows to my heart.

I feel my own awaited death invites itself in.

Sometimes if I'm not careful I might shut

those windows before the healing begins.

Sometimes it bothers me, this half-cup full sort of life.

Sometimes I'm just full.

(full) of struggle

(full) of war

(full) of all the collective lies.

From where I'm standing the heavens are bloated on

clouds too high underneath this erosion of sky.

It leaves souls like mine coughing on dismal faith.