Always a sign

There’s always a sign be it glint of an eye

death, illness, or turning aside,

in the strange and mysterious movement

of soul to an ultimate goal.

I stand a spectator in anticipation

of correct interpretation

amidst the constraints and restrictions

of physical needs and desires.

But heaven on earth can only be bred

when I painstakingly relinquish me

into the hands of whoever stands guard

over the unfolding of my destiny.

Called “faith” this let-go, surrender

so many times hurtful to pride

and the snapping of strings of control

a whiplash to bruise and disfigure.

So tender the spot of my heartfelt wants

I can’t help but touch and caress

and murmur under my breath

the fullness of my intent.

And there in the sky floats my desire

tangible only to one who can see

how suffers a body at the will of soul

whose agenda remains still unknown.

But I touch and caress, murmur, and bless,

because, just because, I know

soul and I stand together as one

in the ultimate goal of love!