I stare at my image in the basin’s reflection,
A sacramental pool has never been so muddied,
Reflecting the state of a soul so uneasy.
My gaze strays toward the rood upon which He was sentenced ,
His eyes full of sorrow, but toward whom I’m unsure,
Wondering what true intent lies in His grandeur.
I view the many faces that surround me each week,
Heads buried wherever they can avoid finding light,
Wondering if is this is enough for their life.
I dare to look into the face of my creator,
What do I owe to you? Jubilance or misery?
Do I even know you, stranger conjured from voices?
Do they even know you, he who can be seen no more?
Reflecting, wondering, seeking.
(Oc)Cult Classics 