Do you know what it means to be smoke?
Does the wind toss you around in the fragility of your creation
While you ascend to the heavens like Cain's sacrifice,
Or do you dissipate into nothingness
Like my train of thought
As I sat on your grave,
Drenched in rain and guts,
To lay requests I could no longer make to you?
Do you know what it means to be dust?
Does your presence leave tracks of filth instead of you,
Like the footsteps of a bloody civilian,
Or is there a remaking of God's creation in you,
Like a reincarnation?
Because I am tired of whispering my prayers
To a body six feet beneath me.
They simply rebound back at me.
Do you know what it means to be mud?
Does the righteous man flee from your splashes
Before testing the depth,
Then diving into you,
Or do you harden like clay,
Like Pharaoh?
Because whether as smoke or as dust,
You are no longer the man I used to know,
Or maybe I just need clarity.
Dear Father,
Do not flood out in rage
If my words to you are insults.
I'm still learning to pay my homage.
