Sacrilege

a large empty room,
graven altars formed and purposed for daily life,
motionless motions,
stale,
sounds and syllables
spewn across the air
with an ill sense protruding
from the gut to the subconscious
but being ignored by the eyes,
for they sit within their caves,
abounding in fear,
fear to be found out,
discovered,
wrong.
innocent pressings in emotions to drink from the cup three feet to the right,
forfeiting the right,
to try in all human ability
to create this unspoken rite
of passage,
a moment when the mind can
undoubtingly proclaim
achievement over this inward giant,
defined by the mind as one thing,
but identified by the heart as another,
the primal fear of Mankind,
established on the very day
We ran away from
Home.