Thomas Blake

My mind was crucified when Heaven’s door swung open.

Loss swallowed up faith and grace and spit out grief.

My prayers were meaningless as I saw you fall away.

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I gather pieces to form a shape I thought I knew existed, but it was the uneven cracks that misled my memory.

I placed them wherever I could to make sense of purpose. It was imperfect in every form,

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The Fever took my mind to the edge of jagged cliffs;

To the peripheral reaches that man dare not tread.

Until what was known became nothing more than speculation.

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When your purpose is challenged,

and the storm has reached the shore.

When the sun becomes lost in the sky,

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I saw Heaven and Hell collide in the sky.

Fluorescent lights colored the clouds.

In tears, Earth left me.

I begged for death.

My heart of anger, my forgotten faith.

It is not that I do not believe,

It is my forgotten soul that fails to see.

Black clouds,

Looming in the sky.

Keep me honest,

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Mended dreams,

Following those tethered streams.

Drunk off superstition,

Blurring the lines of reality.

In the distance,

I heard my Mother’s voice.

A repeated phrase kept her memory alive.

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I awoke in a wooded glen

without a name to remember.

My tongue bruised and raw,

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