Apparitions

What wondrous apparitions
Have we granted such a monolithic state
Wrapping all around them are the tatters of conditions
That we knew were never destiny and so we tried to say that it was fate

And placing them in chapels
With a tithing made of all that could’ve been
Candles burning brightly and an offering of apples
Knowing all they do is rot away inside a mouth of “still, I would again…”

So callous reservations
Are we wearing hoping they can keep us warm
Stepping ever lightly on the make-believe foundations
That are holding up a temple that would fall apart if truth became a storm

But asking, in contrition,
If, for once, the apparitions could appear
Granting recognition of the cost of our submission
Knowing well they never will and yet continuing to hope that if we learn to make them real then it’s okay if we, in pieces, disappear

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