Epistle From The Dark

Lost in your catacombs, I’ve uncovered the dank walls of effaced fishes. Branded by the infidels above, I’ll never leave the ensconcing darkness. I’m stranded— here, lukewarm and famishing for real food, the kind that Origin, that Eunuch, says will hoist my shackled soul out of the brute prison of my body. Here, dark are my days, but what slight light there is, is oh so bright. I’ve befriended forgotten patriarchs, (those modest moles who’ve found peace in your night) . I’ve shed my last aesthetic tears and parts, accepted the mercy of my sentence, and would truly believe, in you, if not for my ineffectual prayers. Silence is all I hear, my fabulous dear God.