Unfaithful

There was a spark

at the end of his dim lit tunnel.

He saw it so readily;

some say they never see it,

comatose or a moment ago revived.

Day in and day out

a flicker that would twinkle

like a star through lens-scope,

and he could almost reach it

through earth spiraling fade to dark.

Demonized he felt,

claw marks through tunnels grasping

past thin air at illusive mythology.

At best this was the closest

to faith a man could be bestowed.

Yet it was never enough

to satisfy half-filled attempts at validity;

a charge he placed at the world's feet,

to grant him reach

and be fulfilled.