Do you ever dream of heaven, still,
Even as all the sanctuaries and holy books
Are emptied of love and grace, any tenderness, or kindness?
Is it, as it always, a kind of love, a hopeless devotion
To a young woman lost to the darkness and violence
Of this shitty and evil world, that always steals innocence?
Imperial gardens bloom as sweet, as the wild dandelions
Beyond the gates, and the thorns on the roses draw blood,
In these gardens or in wild tangles in the unspoiled forests.
She was kind and gentle, like I was supposed to be all along,
The sweet one, the devout one, left out by her sister’s,
Left to the comfort and silence of the candle lit chapel.
Across the years and the wars and the holy men
In my own nation carrying guns and golden crosses,
I see what a simple and gentle heart can grow with faith.
I dream of that candle lit chapel, of her in fervent prayer,
And dream of joining her in devotional and supplication,
Of afterwards walking hand in hand of her in Eden’s restored gardens.
And I wake up to the same awful world where holy men
Crush the weak under their heels, and pried themselves
On their violence and willingness to kill.
And so many “Good Ones” excuse it, and look away.
I hold onto her, and her faith and kindness, in dark days.
The fear and hatred eat me alive, as war drums beat on.
I want to hold her hand in heaven, and leave pain behind.
faithlesspaladin 