trials

so you don't believe
anymore. your faith
like fresh snow, so
pure and clean, so
deep and bright has
melted under fire.
enough pain and death
has stung your nights
and days that
the cross means
nothing to you. fables
is what you mumble
as you walk past the
church. mythology
for the weak, for
those who need to lean
on a God they cannot
hear or see, or touch.
so where does that leave
you. no longer do you
doubt, for now you
claim to know, and your
life has become a grave
that you will not
rise from. pity. i
don't know, sometimes
i'm unsure myself.