Without Doubt

In a confessional at night,
suffocated by wood and darkness,
someone prays for redemption
and is greeted with silence.
Feeling the thin gold chain
that remains always
around their neck,
they have to believe
that He is listening.
Without proof,
but without doubt.
 
Sitting over a desk at night,
pummeled by a current of thought,
someone prays that the right words
find them in their sleep;
that inspiration
be pulled in with the tides.
That this be the story
finally worth telling.
But they are greeted with a paper
that remains empty,
baring its blankness
as a wave curling with sea foam.
Feeling the familiar weight
of a pen in their hands,
and a pressure that weighs
as heavy as the deep, with its water
surrounding above and beneath,
they have to believe
it is worth it.
 
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