This is my Sabbath
This mind is my church
A sanctuary swollen
with candlelight
The prayers of saints and sinners alike
Whispered in
tongues, screamed in the voices of beasts
each prayer a hymn
each hymn a
paean to a fresh fallen angel
those liquid slick thoughts that sprout their
own wings
and fly too close to the altar
before they wilt like week-old roses
sacrificing themselves to the God of Doubt.
Each day that ends in a
question mark
Is my Sabbath
And each answer is communion.
-Geoffrey Griffard
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