sometimes, on the tiled floor

prayers escape my folded mind

that can't be gagged or tied

something make this stop

i'm asking nicely please

you've got the power and the time

you can make this go and i will sleep

but i never knew the man on the cross

that so many find their paths intersecting with

wanted to and tried but found

nothing where a cage full of faith should be

with my dirty feet swinging from the pews

a lapsed catholic and a lapsed jew

full of grape juice in lieu of communion wine

buddha seeks enlightenment and krishna

would embrace with many arms opened wide

allah's light shines down over the earth

but squinting into the shine that round glow

just looks like the sun

so nothing ever stops on the tile floor

it's a cycle of naught

which usually gives way to not much

until the shroud drops and i am convinced

into sleep for another day

but it's never lonely looking upwards:

instead of a golden city upstairs

i see the blanketing, beautiful darkness

and i see so many stars