a religion of renegades

Always fancied myself the
opposite
of wise,
possessing
audacity of those who’ve
died too young.

One pebble
in the grind, working hands that
build up stonework pride,
then tear it
down like castles
with no spine.

Single spoke in
a wheel I no
longer feel
turning
clockwise.

Always thought I’d worded hurt correctly,
let tears appropriately
drift south,
tipping bottom’s
bottom to optimum angles.

Assumed I’m not a vandal
among waves but rather,
a small candle
to monsoons,

tenacious little flame could
never go out.

Never associated with a
firefly but were I to befriend one, it’d
come to rely more on

its mouth

than the gift of
finding your way.

Always thought myself
a brazen sage but I’m betrayed
philosophizing
whether I’m
done

apologizing for
my prophets,

an alternate religion I’ve watched age
into catastrophic
ignorance.

Advertisements

One thought on “a religion of renegades

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s