Saturday, February 16, 2008

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!

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