Not every question

Not every question

Has an answer

Not one to satisfy

All demands

How does it feel

To believe

When everything we see

Is relayed

Through imperfection

Of design

Perception is an approximation

Of what we expect

We may wish

For something other

But whatever else

I might like to think

The only ghosts I see

Belong to me

Cross a palm

With silver

There is no future

Worth the cost

No peace of mind

In tarot cards

Seance or magic

The practice of

The black arts

A source of propaganda

For the witch hunt

Leave me hanging

Without a thread

To mend my ways

There will be no

Redemption

Without remorse

And there is enough

Of that

To shame us all.