Here is the third thought-provoking piece by Mike Filce, our guest poet for the month of May.

We just don’t know,
where all this confidence —
where these small victories
over perceived obstacles and foes,
over fabricated challenges —
will take us,
but we plan our votive offerings
on the altar of human achievements,
adding our tiny flame
to the collective torch
feeling adequate in our doing—
that it counts for something—
and take comfort in the fact
that we are not alone
in measuring ourselves thus,
even while knowing the doublethink—
that God, if we so incline,
wants us to be different,
to be the lone voice howling in the wind—
but that—self-imposed exile—
is the one sacrifice we refuse . . .
the one too terrifying to confront,
at the risk, even, of changing the path
of light into the finality of dirt . . .
laying bare our underlying lack of faith:
we don’t believe—not really—
for if we did, absolutely, then
we would hardly demur at carrying the cross.
Instead, we hedge our bets —
pursue totems of our age and station —
in case that’s all there is.

Copyright 2018 Mike Filce All rights reserved

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