How many doors, unlocked by the keys
upon the belt of the old chapel organ
lead to stained glass memories,
now seen clearly, scenes that color "happy"
as "nothing bad is happening"
with light brush stroke through a prism
all things on a spectrum, the abacus of reality
filtered through perspective, subject to change
it feels divine, the aura of decay
how slowly it eats away, no more doors lead anywhere
but astray, how much further can loss penetrate
until all that's left to sink teeth into and bite is dust,
and that is the substance of character that one has, for one must
ash, in the mouths of babes, to and fro,
remember this was a happy place, sour note, a bleak ray
or can you know?
A dog in the church, unafraid and untame
on all fours barking mad, a man only in name
stay away, go away, get back, ruination, rumination
alienation, safety, isolation, redemption, penance
lush paradise, barren desolation
how many keys unlock the doors of perception,
how strange is the mind of a mutt, weakened by hunger
frothing with rabies, barely standing and bare from mange.