Of our former selves
We wait
In this line where we shall recieve Him
Into us
With hands crossed
In holy patience
I can't help but wonder
Why do I still pray?
For I too have felt the sins of humanity
Trust into my being
And endured the pain
Of questions left unanswered
I wondered to myself once
What it would be like to build a ladder
Out of blades of grass
How well can that really hold up
Under the pressure of existence?
And I pictured all of the people
Who have been lied to
Desperately trying to climb this ladder
But failing miserably
Because they had nothing but a lie
To hang on to
The ladder of grass
This utensil for climbing
And for faith
Has crumbled under the weight
Of my misery
And broken all that which I used to hold dear
But I'm not afraid
To live my life with hellish sentiment
To risk damnation is passive thought
I will not be condemned by that which
I do not believe
And I know that I will survive
Even after the cross