When we first met I sensed the divine,
Like incense on a Sunday mass,
I've always sought the other worlds,
Those where we venture in our early days,
But rays of which today reflect on shields of jade in city cages,
I'd do anything to see the hands of the ****** again spring out from yours and clasp them like you did those many nights;
And stir within those perfect curves a justification for our passioned fights.
I never looked beyond the form in fear that I should see an imitation,
A statue of St Catherine so far from limitation,
But;
Reflected in those rosary eyes, the shops the cars the all too human passers by,
And alas I see my holy venture would this very day refrain,
Communion over, head down on your chest,
I'm immediately afraid;
From earth this heart of yours was made,
and to earth it shall remain.
This poem is about a recent breakup, having taken the surface reading of her I fooled myself into believing I was truly in love as I'd been before when much younger. I liken it to thinking you are rediscovering your faith only to find out it's only statues with 'all to human' reflections and materials. For once I looked deeper and closer at the statue of st Catherine of Genoa/the ****** (representing that initial pure love I've been lucky enough to experience once) I found it was just that. A statue, an imitation of the divine with an earthly heart which ends my holy venture (into heaven etc).
