quench

Always thirsty
could call it a curse, the
way
Keep searching and searching
searching
for a way to step through the dark
without lurching and stumbling
falling
Between the church and the humbling
sprawling mass of Earth
The land of my birth
The sand in my hand
as a kid on the blandest of beaches
Surrounded by preachers
that teach us
unintended teachings
that keep us bleached white
by the sun of sanctity’s solitude
From truths imbued
with black sombre ink of Solomon
Who solemnly sung
wisdom amongst madness
and this thirst in me now
I drink to his sadness

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