No watermark of reason

Grooming myself for the worst I still have no conception of it.

After all, we all conceive a definition for worst-case scenarios.

Some conjure bits of movies or novels to build a model that fits,

and many won’t entertain the thought like gluten-free Cheerios.

Some things are beyond our grasp and have no watermark of reason,

others hang by the Spanish Moss waiting for their season.

I am forced to ask questions when I would much prefer denial.

Push on, is my justification, no use for looking back or standing still.

I refuse to feel trapped but I feel I’m bent scrap on a junk pile.

Will I be inspired, frozen or reluctantly place myself in God’s holy will?

Some things are beyond our grasp and have no watermark of reason,

Others hang by the Spanish Moss waiting for their season.

My mother taught me about faith, simple and clear, sans religion,

and I listened, believed, waited, and received inexplicable miracles.

Then I wandered aimlessly, carelessly like a common pigeon

until I was drawn back to God, not some earthbound oracle.

Some things are beyond our grasp and have no watermark of reason,

others hang by the Spanish Moss waiting for their season.

I could contemplate life and death and the new Jerusalem,

but I can be forgiven for seeking yet another miracle, another sign.

One that heals and covers scars of pack-a-day menthol Salems

and puts me back into life, spared from the clutches of dying.

Some things are beyond our grasp and have no watermark of reason,

others hang by the Spanish Moss waiting for their season.