Which Is Where We Are Now

God, please grant me surety
 for I tire of having the faith
 to be the continual recipient
 of your divine grace

It’s a lot of mud
 but there might be gold
 you have to sift through it all

Man could push the river
 might as well just float on it

First, some straightforward checkmates
then, surprising queen sacrifices for checkmates
rook check sacrifice to get the queen
queen sacrifice to get a royal fork
then queen exchanges just to get a bishop
then some exchanges just to get a better position
until finally you are almost at the start
never a losing situation

I used to cry
but I have thousands of oysters soaking in the sea
and enough pearls to fill all their sties
 and build a ladder to the pearly gates
only, I guess their heaven is rolling around in the mud
so, nevermind

The seed does not begrudge itself for not yet being
the sprout does not begrudge itself for not yet being
the sapling does not begrudge itself for not yet being
the tree does not begrudge itself for not yet baring
the fruit…

I didn’t lose my religion
 I abandoned my soul
No one prized it
 and I didn’t realize what I had
 till it was gone
Wasted youth
 forfeited to the youth group
I sold my soul for a soul
I return empty-handed
 looking for the original one
 just don’t say prodigal son

In the unlimited grace of God’s hands
I artificial limited myself

Look, you don’t have to be Ozymandias
 to enjoy life
Shout your eternal, infernal Yes to the hillside
 and it will holler back
 as a mother playing peek-a-boo
  with her enfant terrible
Agent of chaos, perhaps
 but briefly beautiful butterfly, besides

Sometimes, the truth doesn’t fit
 so, we trim a little here
 and stretch a little there
All done and dusted;
 but, still, it feels off:
 something’s missing