Peering through my gold rimmed spectacles
A gentle wind escapes through the panes of my office.
Entertaining thoughts which lead to doubt.
He stands accused.
Feathers blowing in the mist.
A thin wispy air.
Rosy cheeks and dimples.
A child’s innocence led by a weathered manicured hand.
To the rectory where no one sees. No one hears.
No one whispers.
The task is done.
Incompletely torturing another’s soul.
Raging truth must be set free.
From the fires which choose to burn.
An old steeple with tarnished crosses.
What is there to believe?
Where is the truth? Wherein lies naivety?
Refusing to capture the pangs, the pain.
The psyche of one’s being.
Shall I escape from the ruins?
To other gray stagnant days.
Fog laying all about.
Attempting to consume. To cover.
Foolishness attempts to hearken another’s vow.
At the expense of one so bright, clear and young.
Causing questions which will last throughout the centuries.
No time to ponder. Only to walk away.
And begin again.