Fallen Luminary

The illustration of my heart…
My street is cracked asphalt and chipped tarmac.
Cigarette filters like breadcrumbs follow,
I know what walls will never whisper,
And the story dwells within my eyes.

The church on down houses hypocrisy…
Condemn the molested, infected, and neglected.
With hearts like cracked asphalt and chipped concrete,
Hollow hearts sing God’s euphonies,
When God doesn’t dwell there.

I cavort in private hells with friends…
With minds like cracked asphalt and chipped blacktop,
The stenches of stale liquor and foul smoke,
Follow behind our hurried footsteps…
And my God saves me from myself.

Half-hearted smiles in church aisles…
Softer than the fluttering of the cardboard fans.
I gaze up and find a vaguely familiar presence,
Prettier than the white cloth draped on the alter,
And even in a darkening world, my oaken skin glows...

And I am not alone amongst the fallen luminaries.