I miss the old days, they say
When a hungry heart could pay the soul,
In what little money could not
Though we are histories,
Ages past and generations of believers,
Reaching past the veil, inviting spirits to encompass
What we are nary to offer
Writhing in our insistence to break apart
The bones that gnaw at us, begging for snippets
Of performances, a story, glory
Divinity we forbid ourselves, they say
Why, if I could fly, in song,
Why, if I could enchant those hungry hearts like mine,
I think that would be fine