Mountains and Pews

I seem to have lost my grasp  
on your hold  
Somewhere  
in the middle of the crowd  
I'm ashamed to admit  
I might have let it slip  
Amongst all the pushing  
and pulling  
and rushing  
I called your name  
but all I could hear were:  
bullets  
bombs  
storms  
and  
rioters with signs  
throwing venomous words  
like stones    
they swore YOU said  
puncturing like daggers  
in the backs of the people  
who all bled red  
regardless of the walks  
of life they tread      
...  
I thought I saw you once  
in the sunrise  
so I look there often  
-keep an eye on that open horizon  
And I thought I heard you once  
in my niece's laugh  
so I try my best to make her smile  
whenever I get the chance  
-it's the closest to you  
that I've ever been  
but I still catch myself  
searching for an elusive dove  
to crack the skies open    
and rain down truths from above  
All the while waisting time    
lurking in forests  
in hopes to find a burning bush  
but it takes me moments  
that pass like eons  
to realize that everything but  
the weeping willow's roots  
have been demolished  
and removed  
Mountains have been ripped down  
from their heavenly reach  
All that's left is the memory  
of their majestic peaks  
and seeds of grass thrown  
like a make-shift tombstone  
...  
Newly found fickle-feet wander  
As I wonder  
how the hell I got to this place  
where graffitied words  
invoke an amen  
and the mistranslations  
construct the stem  
of the steeple where masked men  
bend the knee  
before standing crooked  
on city streets  
denying entry into a house  
of which  
they do not own  
and do not know  
all the while  
holding signs  
casting stones  
and breaking bones  
...  
See  
I don't blame the devil for bruises  
but rather  
ignorance  
how forceful it pushes    
and contorts  
and confuses  
And I don't blame the gun  
for the flesh-piercing-bullets  
but rather the hatred  
that feeds the need  
to pick up  
and use it  
Where a trigger is useless  
without the person to pull it  
A light switch is only as good  
as the one it takes  
to leave it on  
long after it seems  
that all hope is gone  
-HOPE IS NOT GONE  
Long at rest are my days  
spent in a pew  
wearing goggles that mask  
the view of the truth  
PEOPLE choose:  
to be good or evil  
to be in attendance  
or vacant  
or cultured  
or ignorant  
or spiritual  
or atheist  
or impartial  
or compassionate  
Having the ability to make choices  
is wonderful  
no matter how distasteful some may  
prove to be  
So I thank those  
and pay homage  
to the warriors at the frontline  
SCREAMING for progress  
that tastes like something  
DIVINE    
...  
Somewhere  
along the forks in the road  
I seem to have lost my grasp  
on your hold  
Grateful  
I am  
for my displaced maker  
but I can't discredit the keeper  
of the light left on  
Though the seams of chapels    
have come undone  
where there is goodness in a world  
(seemingly) gone wrong  
there is hope that faith  
is far from gone  
in this place we make  
our home  
Amongst the demolition  
and destruction  
there are flowers  
that grow through cement  
like a beacon  
and I pray that find you there