Lone Mural

I know it.
Sitting at your door.
You let me in sometimes,
You keep you from the cold.
I like that.

There’s a concrete floor.
We both know,
It’s not the best place.

You know it.
As I take a moment to look up.
There’s a beautiful mural…
It’s detailed...
It’s beautiful,
And it’s tragic.
Even though, it’s not complete.

I know by the hand, it is yours.
With the hands of your family,
And friends, they all chipped in.

Despite how I try,
You refuse to look up.
So I accepted it.
I describe it.
My voice booms,
Telling of the tale.
Of the girl who eroded,
Under her own tears.
Of the girl who built anew,
Out of sediments.

You don’t understand.
But you listen… you are great at that.
Then like a miracle,
As if a man who bet his last dollar of the last horse,
As been praying to God all race,
Paint of the mural starts to drips to the floor.

Cement with specks of colors…
And suddenly you see past all the ex-lovers.
And you see the beautiful pink…and
That stunning green…
And god… who could forget that blue?

And even though you still don’t have the strength to look up…
You see it…
You see the color…
And that’s the most amazing thing…
I wish I could stay here forever…
In these moments…
But soon I’m out the door again.
Begging to see the mural again, but it’s though stained glass windows only.

I may not believe in a god,
But you’re making me religious.
And I stay here,
And pray all day…
Even if I can’t hear the sermon