There is a low sheet of fog in the field across the way
And I am reminded of that afternoon.
We all remember it, but we don’t speak of it.
I dug up the grass with my bare feet
Running full-fledged somewhere, nowhere.
The holes served as a reminder during the weeks to come.
I collapsed and beat the ground until my fists
Were bruised and I had frightened the birds away.
I screamed out a sob but made no sound,
And I prayed for the day to end
And for you to survive it.
I begged and pleaded under my breath
In a language I didn’t understand.
I stared at the blank sky until I sensed darkness,
And went back inside
To my bed and my photographs and a phone call.
That was the day that I ceased believing in God.

i lost my faith in magicians when they started pulling blades out of my pockets instead of doves and white rabbits and ribbons shakespeare used in his plays

i lost my faith in teachers when the tests they set grew to be not tests of my math skills but tests of my mental stability and insomniatic abilities

i lost my faith in families when inanimate objects and quixotic creatures shared my grief and forced me to learn about blood versus money as deities

i lost my faith in doctors when they decided prescriptions should be more than just about healing positively

i lost my faith in god(s) when i was offered a rickety ladder right after i prayed for strong feet

Day opens up with light
and darkness owns the night.
Of both times I desire
the sun owns day with its fire.
When sun dims, slowly adrift,
it gives the waxing moon's lift,
with pale beams softly sent
to show a world that's shadow-bent.