Shrouded Eyes Poem by C H Sund

I am tasting this taste again
a bitter, salty tasting wafer
served on communion’s plate
offered as if salvation bid.

This wafer, heavy on my tongue
and dry, so very dry to chew
yet, salt and bitters somehow comfort.
Is it penance or disillusionment?

Do I kneel now and genuflect,
wear again the shroud upon my eyes,
bandage my ears to muffle cries
and prostrate myself beneath the sky?

Or do I think about the light once more
as if this clichéd metaphor speaks?
And yet it seems much different now.
Is the light’s portal calling me?

Does this mean then finally… clarity?
Removal of my darkened shroud at last?
Or am I eternally damned to ever wonder,
a postulant to the universe, course unknown?

Or am I simply dead?