Don’t Call Me Civilized

I should just admit it.
The Faith has worn off
Like sliding fire.

Do I want it back? To again build
Layer after layer of prayers?
But some storms will always wear away
A few layers, will knock in the roof.

And I must endure some months
Of a dripping ceiling, cold and wet,

And the beating of my heart, wild.
I must keep it from running out of the house.

My heart wants to chase
The thunder, rain, and wind,
To howl a prayer at every
Star, cloud, and moon
That I can.

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