Leave
us not torn, my Lord. Rather open us to glory, where
fever
permeates our chests caves. We gnaw upon camel’s skin,
bright
eyed with fervor, trekking through heaven’s crevices.
It
was ever a miracle, something scarred, molding a miserable
and
broken wretch. Let the skies be opened, where doves
descend,
and glory permeates. We come to partake, eager for
knowledge,
radiating Christ. It was never our love, prior to
Love,
but ever a gift: so withdraw not, my Lord. Let the gates
be
opened, that angels may soar, from soul to earth; for the
kingdom
is firm within, so come, make a place for us. We’ve
used
a front door, my Lord: found upon a floor, my Lord,
kneeling
for face and sword, my Lord. Is it not from womb—
our
names unknown? What have You fashioned, Lord, ever to
forgive,
else we perish Your crucible. If not for the Lord, death
would
have swallowed us up. It was earth, covered in darkness,
and
then there was light. It’s more than miracle, my Lord, a
fulgent
beam, permeating gridlocks.
