Celestial Navigation

these false idols
dancing stones
like river parades
with shattered bones
without the rain
this sky grows clearer
whispers of angels
they’re growing nearer
but the feather are gray
so out of season
and empires of sand
were built for a reason

these false idols
stealing breath
and new life brings meaning
to another old death
like sweet summer days
seem so far away
ain’t winter so damn pretty
cold black smoke rises
enhaling the city

God is writing poetry on every line
God is talking riddles with every sign
and His jars of clay
are turning cold shoulders
and His jars of clay
are carrying weights of boulders
to err is human
to persist is divine

nevermore, nevermind

these false idols
wandering on like one lost soul
in to pale white weather
with no control
making sense of constellations
guided only by stars
guided only
by the will
to breathe

(Your galaxy is beautiful despite what we’ve done)

Your Two Piasters: