Torn

If god has deserted us, then I have deserted him,
When the sea runs red with swirls of anger, I will turn my head away,
And no amount of praying will draw me back to you,
I will cut off my apron strings, one by one,
Severing them like an umbilical cord, that has outlasted its use.

I will venture out alone, stronger now; I have rid myself of your deception,
And no amount of praying will draw me back to you,
Even as a plague of locusts descend violently from the heavens,
I will not falter, or grow weak at the knees and take you back,
I’ve had it with your excuses, no more.

I’ll play my own puppet master,
Set sail, as the horizon shrinks ever thinner,
And my mind will be filled with all that is calming,
Surreal dreams of distant promises, my lover at my side,
And no amount of praying will draw me back to you.

As I soothe, your messy hair away from your eyes,
Ever so gently so as not to wake you, my darling,
The night before we had visited the theatre, oh the cabaret,
They had mistaken us for brothers, a secret touch here and there,
a soft kiss lovingly imprinted on the nape of your neck.

But as the day grows darker, as if I were a robot,
My prayer beads slip as if from the heavens into my hands once more,
And I play the role perfectly, reciting the prayer over and over,
Word for word and my guilty bones betray him,
As I usher, ‘sorry father, for I have sinned’.