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.
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!
But heaven on earth can only be bred
Recent Comments