help is in order - you and i still screaming each other sick like twin fathers. one
who wishes to surrender his church to the rust and the other hastening to restore it: stone, metal and all.
many nights i fail to tell apart one from the other, tell apart the resurrection from the ruin. i
and you both picking up and at loose ends of temple rubble and made to snivel at what could have been.
there are pieces here we keep that need be thrown away.
there are pieces here we leave behind that need be kept.
I use "God" a lot for my titles. But this one is rather apt for now. It lacks the power I want from a poem entitled "God," but it's true. And truth sometimes is all that needs to count.