Ugly, Morbid, Honest

I have faith, or so I use to believe

but lately, it seems I can't get it,

around it, or consumed by another

one's supply of it, unfulfilling, too

an offering of generous provisions 

I share in it, honestly hopeful 

but better I know, the sooner I can

remember it by the truth, as deadly

it is not tangible, in actuality, it is a lack

persisting, though more often than not

gets the better of us, our thoughts, so we feel

someone else must correct, redistribute 

what was and always will be damaged

but, I spent the better part of this winter 

cold, I vividly remember days, trying to 

resurrect the past, with my skull cap on

I was covered, already I'd forgotten that

in good faith, at the very least, I believed 

that, there was love

I watched the pedestrians, all walking

crossing my line of sight were those

I could identify, visibly passing by me

the gays, the straights alike, I sat 

alone, wondering still what I'd done 

or what I could possibly do, in my right

mind you, there but hardly any case 

for  the law cannot protect you

nor deactivate the bombs that explode

beneath your footstep, as you carry on 

the land, taking it all, in the brunt of your weight

all that you carry is a killing, the plot of explosions

that set off, a timer, the bombs, will lead to your death