Wounded Faith

I sit in mixed noises noticing where my attention goes. Sometimes away from those that call me Away to those that don’t. Wound I thought healed, resurfacing. The bones of the rejected struggling to piece themselves back together to prove shaking skeletons an asset. Not seeing the atrophied flesh of the corpse rots because the parts were weighed, and found wanting. Coping mechanisms that bound me to fight to receive love from those incapable Unknowingly, I repeat the pattern My attention wavering A moth in the dark night. Following a slight trail. A scent of Eden he left on my heart. By sweet fragrance I fly wounded and blind, Back to the lover of my soul.