Mystery — Poem
Somedays I just want to be
An Anglican with long, dangly earrings
And a priest to hear my confession.
It sounds easier to depend
On a priest for direction and sustenance
Than have this tenuous connection with silence.
At least a stained glass window
Covers those in its vicinity
With a many-colored shawl.
Mystery can feel like protection.
It is able to crop up anywhere
As beauty (and tragedy) are liable to do.
This propositional gospel
Where truth meets truth, one to one
Means I have to play expert
With the unknown
When I would rather play, “Seek the King,”
Digging in the dirt
And pulling back the sky.
To turn sparkling gems
Over and over in my hand
And know that whoever made these
Must be good and praiseworthy.
Cristina Williams has been jotting down her thoughts since she was eight years old. Just about as long, she has been kept awake at night by visions of "the end times" playing out in her head. Poetry is helping her to cope with the current state of the world and make sense of the legacy of Adventism on her soul.
Photo by Luca Lago on Unsplash
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