one day

it's there, written down,
all the answers in the book
the satisfactions to life's questions
repeated and restated
don't know how many times i've asked the same ones
don't know how many times i've been given a no
but i'm told to keep pressing, keep pushing, keep praying
where do i go, where do i start
[or rather, where do i pick up where i last left off]
funny thing is, i know many of the answers
but they don't make sense
and i'm left sliding down again
bruised knees and wet eyes
begging for what i both know and don't have a clue
i am sand stuck in a bottle
shaken and tossed about in the ocean
waiting to rest upon a forsaken island
to be opened and read and taken for what i am
poured out again with the rest of the khaki grains
are these dreams not compatible with reality?
will the summer fruit not be ripe until winter sets?
i tremble, yet not as i should
the day i bury my head in fear will be the one in which the golden gate is finally unlocked
and i won't be able to bear the sight of beyond those closed doors
for the lack of good within this rotted soul
yet deliverance will be mine, when i least deserve it
and the broken shards of glass will be fire-blown into something precious.

remember this dead man, oh God, and breathe life into that which so easily loses its reflection of you.