A crow mourns at the stump
of the memorial tree.

A past life—
a spirit reincarnate,
a love tethered,
a body,
caged—
dammed in feathers.

A crow mourns at the stump
of the memorial tree.

Souls tied,
one unearthed,
tears slipping in flight—
a forsaken rebirth.

The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship.

Knees painted blue,  
sweat reeks of sin,
calloused hands reign regret,
prayers sang in vain.

Guilt masked as pride,
envy veiled as praise,
lust whispered as love,
as purity slips in sage.

But the altar remains forgiving—
of all those who are misled,
for they weep at the stone steps,
of a temple once embedded.

The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship,
still exuding grace—
accepting all those,
lost, and seeking blind faith.

They say that when you die
Your life flashes before your eyes
I think parts of me die every few days

The suffocating agony
of my childlike innocence
The oblivion and sincerity
of little white lies I told as a child

It all flashes before my eyes every few days

Blurred monochrome memories
Screaming and crying, laughter and joy
Scraping my knees with muddied hands

Siblings watching in silence
for they knew to not speak
As I climbed the ladder of our bunk bed
Trying to escape the unrelenting lashes

Begging God to be let go
Seeking blind faith

It all flashes before my eyes every few days