I was told to call this body home.
To walk barefooted through my veins
like they were red painted hallways
and to find a place to lay this head.

Still others say this body is a temple.
But what type of temple is not filled
with the faithful signing heavenly praise.
This body would be an empty church.

Now I don’t know much about God,
but I do know enough to say that
he wouldn’t visit this chapel.
These bones no longer know how worship.

If this body be not a home or a temple
then what is left but a prison.
A prison made of flesh to keep in
the last of a dying soul.