STATION X.III

My faith in myself is not strong

It wavers.

Wavers with doubt, wavers with temptation.

I am a spell, a prayer

Words cast into meaning

Begging for manifestation.

If I see will I believe?

If I see the spell I am casting become real

See my body and blood transformed

Will it be enough?

Be enough to make others believe to?

What a strange thing

To be exist only with faith.

To try to still exist in a world losing its faith in me.

In a world where I question your faith in myself.

***

Question if the spell I am casting can exist

Outside of the altar I have built for it.

As I knell at this altar

Casting my spell

Asking once again to be made real with words

I watch the wax melt

Solid

Then liquid

Then solid.

Fluid and malleable in form.

I imagine myself burning

Body and blood

Into embers and wax.

***

We love the candle and

We love the trails of wax it leaves

We love the smoke that plumes

We love the scent that lingers.

God gave us candles to burn

So that we could experience

Destruction as an act of creation

So that we could see the beauty

In letting things that their final form.

Together,

God and I watch the wax melt

As the candles burn.

We watch as they turn

solid

then liquid

then solid.

***

I can’t ignore it.

I can’t ignore it much longer.

The prayer screaming to be heard.

Faith, broken over and over again,

Waiting to be restored.

I can’t deny my belief.

I can’t deny the holiness within me.

When they ask if I believe

I cannot lie to protect myself anymore.