Spirit
We
come to You, wholly incomplete, bleeding spirit. Our
hearts—pour
woes, ever to cry, Lord! We die to feel born,
touched
with anguish, nearly in tears. Your reach, Lord,
oh
Your reach. So many infractions, where forgiveness
screams,
veils are paved, a woman dies gripping grass. If
ever
a friend—our God, warm to a heart-chakra. My
spine,
Lord—our spine. We’re framed in Spirit, craving
Wisdom,
bleached in our sufferings. I see You, such in
passing;
I hear You, such in sight. Our days are beautiful,
Lord!
ever to write—our Lord; touch a soul, my Lord.
It
was nearly midnight, fallin’, grieving, begging for life.
Our
Lord listened, with such a reach, baptizing a travesty.
On
our behalf, a Sun has risen, streaming through souls,
bathing
in wounds. Oh such rain, born alive, subject to
sorrows.
A soul is printed, spellbound in motion. I come
to
You—in all things, realizing more—my life.
