Hail Mary

How's your faith these days
Father...
Does it lie dead, dismembered;
the masticated pieces spat at the feet
of your stained glass Gods?
Does it choke your private sanctuary
with the stench of decayed hope?

How's your faith these days
Father...
Does it hang heavy, cold against
the collar; a bloodstone Rosary
strung on veins of attrition?
Are confessions sold in confidence
to cast the Judas cross in tarnished silver?

How's your faith these days
Father...
Does it have the sweet persuasion
it once had, or has the hypnotic drone
of the doggerel lost its melodic allure?
Or is it all finally a figment
of the contrite collective; blind masses
drawn to fat candles lit by weary wanderers
to illuminate the path to salvation?

How's your faith these days
Father...