Document: 2007 Poem by DM W

Before I die, I must document these bleak times,
Like a modern prophet or a subversive scribe.
Haunting me always are the ghosts of memory,
Sometimes I truly wonder whether they are real.
Guilt runs like vital blood through my Catholic veins.
O sometimes I feel as though I'm going insane!

Distraction constantly follows distraction.
Endless distractions hide the cracks in creation.
There is no sense of stillness. Nothing is at rest,
In this artificial land that has not been blessed.
I pray for the emergence of a brighter dawn:
A pure rose of presence; in this world of thorns.