Faith... what makes it,
and what breaks it.
Remains unknown.
But to the empty carcass
of the once enabled,
full bodied,
rotting corpse of man,
it remains within,
the soul.
I thought being true,
is all that it takes.
Of vision and revision,
all that it needs.
Of writing and re-writing,
all that it feels.
Mistaken I was,
I never understood,
the complexities and complications.
Of twisted veins in bodies,
and in minds,
sinewy and dark.
Filled with ****** fluids,
running their jobs.
Impulses fatigued,
robbing it of consciousness.
Where finally there was none.
Throbbing still,
with hope.
And life.