And with the dawning of the facts
the bubble of my own faith
explodes and spreads like shards of glass
across each path I choose to tread.
The cuts and scrapes, blood and pain,
not ever seen in my belief
yet force upon the wondrous “me”
a coming down to artful earth.
But the land itself is innocent
forced to endure just like me
and shines the glass heavenward
like a signalled S.O.S.
Sometimes it misses, shines at me;
can it be I’m dubbed the saviour
and the one and only skilled enough
to repair a bubble?
The wondrous “me”; how can it be
my body’s pierced with glass
and I stand as one in ignorance
of projected faith?
Shine on, shine on, shine on me,
oh, glass and master of dis-ease,
because projected faith
always outweighs reflections!