They came with a cry of judgment,
drugged by detachment and the effervescent
'now'. They came to rule my dry heart
and seize my voice from its socket.
They told me the chapel
was corrupted with false desires.
I thought this to be reality, a statement
that touched the jugular. But when I touched them
it was as if all colours grew dull
and my pulse drummed slow
and amplified. As if the trinity of love, hope and faith
petrified into a powerless slumber, and the food
that was mine had lost its substance.
They came, carried by a yellow sea,
reptile-like and ravenous.
They promised me an anchor but offered only a
shell. And like the death of miracles,
they clung to me like a metal mesh shawl,
blinding my hope with their diction.

-- Allison Grayhurst