Reassemble

If within the sophisticated man there is not an unsophisticated one, then he is but one of the devil's angels. - Thoreau

When weary hearts go sadly askew.

In me or perhaps you.

No small matter what creed can do.

Like launched arrows against an arch rival.

A bold revival.

When born days run cold.

Ancient timbers remember what they foretold.

Long before they grew old.

Splintered and splayed.

As black and white becomes torn and frayed.

Unexpected and grayed.

Riding Holy Grail clouds like a knight to the joust.

Seeking soulful knowledge and willing to barter like the alchemist Faust.

Northbound in a southbound lane.

Against the grain.

Faith wrapped tightly like a fresh ankle sprain.

Persistent, ignoring incumbent pain.

Desperate, despite anarchy's disdain.

Swollen like a ruby red carbuncle.

Knit one, pearl two.

'Tis  all worn hands can do.

When weariness would fain get some rest.

Summoning legions of the best.

Like minutemen called to battle.

Bought and paid for by soulful chattle.

Eternity's silence broken by a convicted brattle.

Clutching brazen beads whilst parched lips tremble.

Bold, radical rosaries summon tired angels to ...

... reassemble ...

Author's Note

“The incessant anxiety and strain of some is a well-nigh incurable form of disease. We are made to exaggerate the importance of what work we do...How vigilant we are! determined not live by faith if we can avoid it; all the day long on the alert, at night we unwillingly say our prayers and commit ourselves to uncertainties.” - Thoreau