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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