Saturday, September 5, 2009

The heart is an offtimes mysterious thing,
dangerous as sunset, bright-painted as dawn,
false-gilded in romance and love's faded song--
may we remember the moonlight
and the roads we walked from;
this is the heart that I carry,
you may gaze at it plain
for I've structured no walls,
I've no buildings to name
that are not built of love,
found through darkness and flame--
I am made of my faith, conceived in Its name
as a hell-walking creature, bent backwards
and drained, though no hate taints my lips,
and I shall not complain
for we all are our paths, and my path
is my choosing; act not with attachment,
so gaining and losing my only reward,
taking all I've been handed
and giving myself, as my faith has demanded--
and here I shall stand, a pillar of fire,
a light to the wall through your dark-driven ire--
I shall give you a hand and lift you awake,
let us pause, let us breathe, let us pray.

1 comment:

Tim Shey said...

Incredible poem.