The Prophet

It takes everything to harbor this shame
of taking wrong turns toward hope
and investing in false gods.

My sacrifices have fallen
like soldiers on the battlefield,
torn and bloodied,
unloved and without respect
for my longing to please.

It is true
that the prophet is a begger
in her own home town.
The locals have nothing to compare this insanity to
but the common fool in her stumbling
with words that make no sense
in the context of so many losses.

Today I will dress myself
in sackcloth and ashes,
comb my hair with my fingers,
and wash my face again

quietly demanding
to finally find someone
who will listen.