#priesthood
She waits-
At the gait
To see a glimpse
Of the man she love
The man who loved her
So dearly
So tenderly
So honestly
So passionately….
She waits-
At the gait
To see a glimpse
Of that turbulent past
In his deep brown eyes
A trace of remembrance
A trace of nostalgia
A trace of yearning
A trace of regret
She waits-
At the gait
To see a glimpse
Of the man she love
The man she can’t hate
Remembering the life they had
Love they shared
Embrace they cherished
Secrets they whispered
She waits-
At the gait
To see a glimpse
Of that past,
The past she wants to let go of
As he paces
Lost in serenity
Towards his goal
Passing her
With a serene smile
In a saffron robe
She waits-
At the gait
Drenched in nostalgia
As wistful tears sparkled
Living in that moment
Where he is
So close
Yet so far…..
Trying to overcome
The distance
The yesteryears
The reminiscence
As his words of wisdom
Echoes…..
And she tries
But she fails
To hate him
“ Love is…. After all,
Merely a fleeting thought
That we choose desperately
To cling on to…
Without letting go.
Another thought,
Evanescent..”
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
And He said to me: “My grace is sufficient for you. For virtue is perfected in weakness.” And so, willingly shall I glory in my weaknesses, so that the virtue of Christ may live within me.
Because of this, I am pleased in my infirmity: in reproaches, in difficulties, in persecutions, in distresses, for the sake of Christ. For when I am weak, then I am powerful.
I have become foolish; you have compelled me. For I ought to have been commended by you. For I have been nothing less than those who claim to be above the measure of Apostles, even though I am nothing.
For what is there that you have had which is less than the other churches, except that I myself did not burden you? Forgive me this injury.
Behold, this is the third time I have prepared to come to you, and yet I will not be a burden to you. For I am seeking not the things that are yours, but you yourselves. And neither should the children store up for the parents, but the parents for the children.
And so, very willingly, I will spend and exhaust myself for the sake of your souls, loving you more, while being loved less.
My grace is sufficient for you. For virtue is perfected in weakness.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
I have reached the end
I am at last triumphant
I am pedigree of pious desire and knowledge eternally sacred
I have welcomed the pilgrims
I have guided their yearning will
To the celestial comforts of feathers’ yellows and sanctity’s whites
Whites white as my waving robe and now my thin white gown
In which I await my appointed time
My tongue is wriggling
Circling across my gums
In sensuous reveling of my life’s most blessed and greatest times
For I have laid eyes upon the glory of life’s highest gifts
For I have laid hands upon the most succulent succubus fertile hips
And I have supped of hymen’s glisten
I swam in Bacchus’s wines
I have recited doctrines of worship
I worshipped saliva’s shine
And I have observed communion
I drank it with ***** dust
I have read the hatha yoga
**** as the first man forged
And I have anointed blossoming ******* beneath the holy sigil
Sputtering laughter
Only trottel bows in truth and believes I dispense
A cleansing and redeeming eternal salvation
Have you no eyes to see my body’s common human shape?
Do you think I’m fat from God’s great love?
I cackle in the presence of such unwieldy weakness
Although my bones are sagging
More sagging is my wrinkled brain!
My memories are mating and birthing strange chimerical forms
They’re flooding and blending
Into vivid dreamlike collage
I see the faces of children I’ve taught
Atop necks of ****** I’ve known
The cheap locations of ****** have grafted with the echoing halls of cathedrals
Bizarre lights of nightclub glow are dancing upon spiritual texts
I hear an angelic litany
Sung through a stripper’s lips
I feel sheep’s wool
In the tousled hair of my boyish youth
I taste sweat in the bread of religion’s stoic privation
My air is growing more ragged
With every pitiful inhale I take
I feel light although I still see my heavy gluttonous flesh
My spirit is peeling away
Beyond my body’s earth
Arising high above from mortality’s curse
I am ascending into the holy realm
A realm with gates inviting
Like opened lotioned legs
I can see my own corpse
Surrounded by genuine reverence
They don’t even notice the shot glass
Still clutched in my pasty fist
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
The Last Priest smiled his blessings
indiscriminately, bridging,
building a new priesthood
beyond borders, across tribes
ignoring gender, discounting class
blind to race, snubbing rank,
denying privilege and preferring
a new holy nationality
for refugees, for stateless souls
like mine
- like ours
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC