I am parched ground
mute beneath withering glare
bone bare without complaint
to drying winds;
having made myself, where
would I find a tear. I send
scents of wanting
into sudden windless skies
and lift my thoughts into emptiness
the kind gift of my maker;
and faith fills a universe.
Transfigured into footsteps
pacing after my shadows
where sun and moon compete
for my heart; a mansion
of many chambers closes doors behind me.
Fled into rooms of remorse
anger upon imperfect soul,
dry skin holding heat
and eyes filled in want,
found rooms of cleansing
wished for place of prayer
dwelled at longest midnight hour
in sins of memory, by eyes
blinded to pain of others.
Then in rooms of silence
found quiet tenderness
there within my spirit
where truth cannot be hidden,
in softest light and every word
clear as rain,
given to lasting promise; water
fallen as dew
upon face of a silken rose, washing
over folds of time, until
spirit found this precious flower;
knowing that only love would remain
upon face of burning sun,
I opened a window and
waited for dawn.
Adding your comment:
Either way, or neither, I thought it was beautiful.
