Altars aren’t for Me

Wishes are for children.

Then what am I left with, as someone in the middle?

I may have lost all my teeth but my bones still stretch and my shoulders still grow (weary, with the weight of all you've thrust on me)

I once was told to dream to the moon and back, but now I'm expected to be all the shiny words businessmen like:

practical, and realistic,

and here-in-the-moment, without

dreaming with eyes open and running late because the sky was just too stunning.

I thought I loved the stars, but you told me I'll never reach them.

I was told to put my faith in God and my fellow man, but those who would be my brothers and sisters and siblings have only stood by as the jagged edges and sharp points of their words spill the blood of their blood (my Crimson, one thing I can trust) onto cracked pavement and broken promises.

I'll put my faith in what I choose for once. Let them falter as they bid me come with talk of gods and men, of law and wealth -

I trust my sureness of foot,

and my goodness of heart (though my head sometimes has other thoughts)

I trust that each star and sun and moon

is nothing less and nothing more

than what I believe it to be.