Crisis of Faith

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No voices in the sky today,

just cold, empty, silent, gray.

No one’s there to hear the pathetic prayers I wing t’wards it;

No one to show me “the way” and that I’m not on it.

Is this lack of discovery on me,

or is the attic really empty?

Sometimes I feel I’ve lost my faith,

sometimes I feel I can’t shake it;

but this church game is not to my taste,

holier-than-thou’s sitting in judgment,

somehow seems bass-ackward,

same as the brimstone that plays on our fears.

Still I fire hopeless prayers skyward,

hoping for a whisper while plugging my ears.

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