These are the times. When the loneliness stretches--the most profound silence. Stripped down to the ugliest fragments of me. I don't--I don't want to find myself here. I don't want You--(please, anyone but You)--to find me, either. Not here. The guilt and shame like black tar smeared across my unmasked face, my head-hairs--(You once so lovingly counted)--matted with filth. I want to tear--tear them from the roots, fling their strangled bodies--far away from me. Farther still, from You.
Yet.
At the mere whisper of my name, the dam (those long years in the dark, I so carefully, painstakingly, built, so they--so You--could never find, could never see)--shatters, the river of my heart-cry rushing out in a torrent, rushing (spinning, speeding, soaring)--into the ocean of You. This Voice that birthed the universe--(let there be)--in a kaleidoscope of color and light and--vibrations, the heartbeat of the stars--humming in tune, and I cry--I cry with them Glory.
And You answer: Love, Be.
No comments:
Post a Comment