He sat on a park bench crucifix in his hands The top few buttons on his shirt torn undone; he had feet made of clay As the cross fell between his knees silently he lifted his gaze still looking for something, still looking for someone He can't even picture in dreams but he'll wait a lifetime to meet
It's a wager he's willing to make He told me there he has never had to question his faith That was before a boy of maybe 10 turned to him to say "Dad, will heaven be worth all this pain?'
He could tell from his face the boy knew he was lying He asked, "Does it ever get hard believing in nothing? When you look through the trees tell me what it is you think you see." I see splendor among oak, blonde leaves resting upon temporary homes
Yet he was somewhat surprised I grasp beauty without the divine All I know is that this sky will last longer than I Where vice and virtue both blur and falter With a prayer in nostalgic poor taste down by the alter
