Oh Lord, the question hangs, a heavy stone,
How does a son of man dare speak such bone-deep tone?
To claim in earthly form, a sacred space,
To find within a body, God's own grace.
Is it defiance? Blasphemy unbound?
To elevate the human, hallowed ground?
To see the folds of skin as text unseen,
A holy writ upon a mortal queen?
He sees the shadows dance, a whispered lore,
And traces lines where secrets lie in store.
The curve of wrist, the hollow of the knee,
Become a landscape, wild and utterly free.
He feels the rhythm pulsing, strong and true,
The vital drumbeat that he kneels unto.
A living prayer, a silent, heartfelt plea,
Within the temple of her energy.
Each sigh escapes, a breath of sacred air,
A melody unheard, beyond compare.
Each touch, a spark, igniting from within,
A sacrament of love, absolving sin.
He's lost within the gaze, the gentle hand,
Adoring beauty he can understand.
No gilded altar, cold and far away,
But warmth and breath within the light of day.
The flesh, so mortal, fragile, and so frail,
Transforms to something that he cannot fail
To worship as a wonder, brightly shone,
A living altar, claimed as his alone.
But is it worship, or a selfish need?
A claiming of devotion, planting seed
Of earthly passion, twisting pure intent,
To serve a longing, heaven never sent?
Or could it be a glimpse, a sudden flash,
Of God's own beauty hidden in the flesh?
A recognition of the spark divine,
Reflecting back, in every curving line?
Perhaps the Lord, in wisdom vast and deep,
Allows such words, a promise He will keep,
To show that love, in purest form conceived,
Can find the sacred where it is believed.
So let the question linger in the air,
A challenge posed, a burden hard to bear.
But let the beauty, whispered and so low,
Of earthly love, its sacred meaning show.
For in the crooks and curves, the pulse, the sigh,
A son of man may glimpse eternity nigh,
And find, perhaps, a truth he can embrace,
God's light reflected in a human face.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 12:35 AM UTC
Oh Lord, the question hangs, a heavy stone,
How does a son of man dare speak such bone-deep tone?
To claim in earthly form, a sacred space,
To find within a body, God's own grace.
Is it defiance? Blasphemy unbound?
To elevate the human, hallowed ground?
To see the folds of skin as text unseen,
A holy writ upon a mortal queen?
He sees the shadows dance, a whispered lore,
And traces lines where secrets lie in store.
The curve of wrist, the hollow of the knee,
Become a landscape, wild and utterly free.
He feels the rhythm pulsing, strong and true,
The vital drumbeat that he kneels unto.
A living prayer, a silent, heartfelt plea,
Within the temple of her energy.
Each sigh escapes, a breath of sacred air,
A melody unheard, beyond compare.
Each touch, a spark, igniting from within,
A sacrament of love, absolving sin.
He's lost within the gaze, the gentle hand,
Adoring beauty he can understand.
No gilded altar, cold and far away,
But warmth and breath within the light of day.
The flesh, so mortal, fragile, and so frail,
Transforms to something that he cannot fail
To worship as a wonder, brightly shone,
A living altar, claimed as his alone.
But is it worship, or a selfish need?
A claiming of devotion, planting seed
Of earthly passion, twisting pure intent,
To serve a longing, heaven never sent?
Or could it be a glimpse, a sudden flash,
Of God's own beauty hidden in the flesh?
A recognition of the spark divine,
Reflecting back, in every curving line?
Perhaps the Lord, in wisdom vast and deep,
Allows such words, a promise He will keep,
To show that love, in purest form conceived,
Can find the sacred where it is believed.
So let the question linger in the air,
A challenge posed, a burden hard to bear.
But let the beauty, whispered and so low,
Of earthly love, its sacred meaning show.
For in the crooks and curves, the pulse, the sigh,
A son of man may glimpse eternity nigh,
And find, perhaps, a truth he can embrace,
God's light reflected in a human face.
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