I have sought You in bits and pieces,
because You are scattered across souls;
I have possessed the places Your heart leases,
for I have not found You as my home.
Do I seek You in those whispering trails
that silhouette my velvet skin –
as prayers and penance, when all else fails
to disrobe me of my mortal sin.
Do You kiss my fingers as strands of beads,
that I touch upon in times of need;
in hopes that You will grant me grace,
or embrace me with Your graceless greed.
Do I find refuge in Your vaulted heart,
with idols that idle in your wake;
in sermons, in summons, Your will You impart,
only Yours to give, only Yours to forsake.
And what of in temples that You have built,
in Your name, of Your fame that You have distilled —
those towering minarets that I cannot breech,
resigned only to altars at which You preach.
A covenant, I covet
with the revenants above it —
Your Altar
Alters You —
my haunting Beloved.
I have sought You in the most essential of ways;
in touch, in taste, in the most sensual displays.
Between covers,
Did I discover
You in a supine repose?
A restive being,
at rest in being –
fated only to my
depthless prose.
Find me, You say, I am yours to find.
A part, never apart, we are seamlessly entwined.
Long for me, for us, and for our Eternal Affair —
For, my Beloved, ours is not a caravan of despair.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
I have sought You in bits and pieces,
because You are scattered across souls;
I have possessed the places Your heart leases,
for I have not found You as my home.
Do I seek You in those whispering trails
that silhouette my velvet skin –
as prayers and penance, when all else fails
to disrobe me of my mortal sin.
Do You kiss my fingers as strands of beads,
that I touch upon in times of need;
in hopes that You will grant me grace,
or embrace me with Your graceless greed.
Do I find refuge in Your vaulted heart,
with idols that idle in your wake;
in sermons, in summons, Your will You impart,
only Yours to give, only Yours to forsake.
And what of in temples that You have built,
in Your name, of Your fame that You have distilled —
those towering minarets that I cannot breech,
resigned only to altars at which You preach.
A covenant, I covet
with the revenants above it —
Your Altar
Alters You —
my haunting Beloved.
I have sought You in the most essential of ways;
in touch, in taste, in the most sensual displays.
Between covers,
Did I discover
You in a supine repose?
A restive being,
at rest in being –
fated only to my
depthless prose.
Find me, You say, I am yours to find.
A part, never apart, we are seamlessly entwined.
Long for me, for us, and for our Eternal Affair —
For, my Beloved, ours is not a caravan of despair.