The weight of walking on water

You never expected
to be a prophet -
not on this earth anyway;
martyrdom, showcased on
glossy magazine pages,
seemed terribly overrated.

You were made for the part -

you with ballads
playing in your head,
projected through your ears.
You dreamt once
of walking on water,
only toes gracing the ground -
or maybe it was the water
in a fountain and you
stepped on pennies
as you walked -
but in your dream
you bore the earth, crying
and tiptoeing back to
your New York City apartment.

The earth is made of angels
who carry the weight
of dead bodies -
much like you they prefer
to cross the town on bare feet,
brushing across cracks
that scream out poverty
and the foundations of
buildings that underestimate
the gnarled weeds
working to overthrow concrete.

You never expected this,
but it has happened
and you play the part excellently.

This city is made for walking on water.