Where was the divine truth?
When doubt consumed thought; burdening the serene
What soul can judge strong faith, what body?
Is it the strength of the prayer or the hope in it?
Divine truth had lips of ice, a breeze I couldn’t feel.
Where was the sign, a holy mecca, a throne?
For me to rest my questions, with a flooding head.
Where was the divine, when I called
Why would it not answer me, there are more prayers than a bible can hold.
Of what loneliness did the corner feel, while hugged at both sides.
As a demon sat on my chest, the divine’s words dropped in murmurs
A kaleidoscope of feelings meshed with the unholy, the unrighteous.
To what does the child, with a belly full of questions
Owe to the smothering adult?
What tempest of views will perceive to dwindle upon the mind of a babe,
To create anxiety in unanswered prayers.
To what do I owe thee? Spirit of flesh,
What virtue shall I call upon thee?
With clenched knees cutting through pages,
Clenched fists to the conscious lost.
Romina Cialdella