A short poem about the loss of faith.
a sweet silver liquid and, as children,
we are cups overflowing with its abundance.
nectar that easily quenches
our adolescent thirsts.
diminished, as we grow older.
That quicksilver nectar no longer brims
our growing cups; we are no longer satisfied
with the simple answers.
not enough to quench
our adult thirsts.
There is no single moment
but, rather, like the thick fog rolling into San Francisco
it is a gradual, loss of clarity.
Replaced by apathy and indifference, eventually,