Many days
I am the one to have
Shattered truths hissed and
Licked into my ears while I lay
Writhing on the hard cold stone
Of the temple floor and, when waking,
I bellow my plague of veracity to those
People in the city. My head bowed with
The celestial compulsion, with the
Mistakes of a thousand years
Resting on the back of
My neck. My mouth
Gaping, wide and
Open - silently
Screaming
Futures.
But on
Those days
I am also
The nonbelievers.

I raise my head.
And one day
When the grief
Unfolds
Within my own
Walls I
Will have to
Begin again.