An attempt

I.

Fear and Doubt,
Fear and Doubt,
the bastard brothers of Mortality,
seek to make cripples and cowards,
and left-footed sighers
of uncertain seraphim,
chanting:
Holy!
Holy!
Holy!
at neon abstractions,
and promises of never enough.

Celestial ass-kissers
of the garden variety,
seeking relevance in church pews
and coffee shops,
with dirty knees
and a need for validity,
casting what ifs into a box marked:
“Memories”

II.

It’s time to rise and remember.
It’s time to fall and forget,
’cause we’re all gonna die,
just
not
yet.

Cast off all mirrors;
reminders of sagging skin
and winglessness.
It’s time to be reborn,
fragile and fleeting,
biased in a monument of me,
but breathing in the we,
and the forever now.

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