Its
mercy for mercy, often conflicted, striving for closure.
Sudden
remorse, stirs regrets, where time becomes a
friend.
I come to You, filled with You, counting wounds.
You
deign for souls, a spinning faith, where knowledge
is
keen. I thrum a wing, to circle right, every deed for
sight.
You heal to fly, my breath and mind, soaring
through
darkness. Your tunic glows, for pressing throngs,
where
virtue has left You. I’m close afar, afar and close,
traipsing
towards a chariot. Wherefrom, a soul—to raise
a
child, to possess the Light? I come first, a desert soul,
the
body of a nomad; and I want for more, where more is
rain,
a system of opposites. What was done, a tragic fail,
for
life was veiled to see? I read to feel, and feel to read, to
prove
for gracious wings. It’s ever this frame, to save a
soul,
adrift a faceless gate. Cry not for wrong, my song of
woes,
but more for grains; for life is brief, the brief of life,
filtered through
trials.
