somehow yesterday's air seemed cleaner.
the sky seemed clearer and the grass greener
and the singing of crickets was like the chaos of an
untuned orchestra waiting to play, and there was dew
on the violins, and the cellist forgot his bow, but it was beautiful anyway.

so how has everything that seemed
so untouchable, so without blemish, so innocently complex,

become ruined, in a night?

how did the sky fill with clouds and the air fill with ash
that builds up in my lungs with no relief from the gasping -
grasping at straws -
but there's dust on my fingertips and i can't keep hold

there was once something beautiful in the things that one could not see
but hear and one could not touch but believe, only faith doesn't
seem to get you anywhere these days, now,
and that's all i have.

they can't take that from me, or at least that's what i hear,

but you can't believe what you hear - you can't even believe what you see
you have to have faith it isn't all just fake
which is ironic, because if faith didn't get us anywhere we wouldn't be able to believe
anything anymore

because this reality has clouded skies and
complicated lies disguised as
simple
misunderstandings, because everyone wants things
their way but let me tell you something,
the world isn't a burger king -
it's a giant glass sphere with dew covered
orchestras that just want to play you to sleep,
but you can't stop to listen because you can't even breathe.

you're under six feet of sand that rose up from the
ground to drown you in your own
smug sense of self righteousness,
when sin was just as close to the surface
as all that kindness you wore as a mask.

if you can dig yourself out
by all means, be my guest -
but if I had to take a guess you'll be there for a while.
let the image of that cloud filled sky and
that leaden feeling in your ash
filled lungs ruminate -
let it make up the half of yourself that you somehow
left on that clear skied day that seems to have been
an eternity ago.

the half of yourself that wanted to hear the
dew covered cricket orchestra and contemplate the silence of the star filled sky.
and if you ask really nicely, maybe the rain will erode
your sandy tomb and you won't have to dig
yourself out.
maybe you won't have to
plead with a million granules of self doubt.

but i wouldn't count on it.

so if i were you, i would start digging.