Unholy spirits visit our dreams,
Battling angels for conquest of our souls.
I did not mean to, but I have become
A skeptic; my dreams of things I would have forgotten.
Philosophies shift like sand in the desert,
This is why we can only wonder
At the Sun and its light.
This desert is a fading life, everything became
Transparent, I can no longer feel it.
There is a danger in how we read the Old Testament;
God might be an angry old man with a white beard.
I will not end this poem with a clever theological statement.
For today, I can only say that I am lost.