The Unintentional

We are dabblers in deliberation.

Tokens and trinkets frothy with rituals,

wishing on stars, mapping their trails.

Decisions unmade with our consistencies,

but from our shifts and ebbs.

And for those who are such driven,

be wary for so is the light in the room.

It’s weakness lies not in faulty currents,

but that one wicked and rough forefinger

is all it takes to cut its ability to light the world.

So it is with unintentional souls.

Travailing in shadow, fumbling their light.

Ever searching, never finding,

that illumination with one another.

Save for only a very few,

and it is these who we have learned to worship.