“Here
I am”; where a world is
spinning,
filled with welts and
whiskers.
I’m
there, a shadow for lights,
the
same as my Father. The
angst
is flame,
filled
with fears, trekking
through
a mental desert; for all
is
blank, to
whisper
a voice, to glow like
twilight. We love You, Lord;
bent
for
reason,
staring at subtleties.
It’s
pure reflection, a mirror
crying,
peering
into suffering. The
world
is groaning—“For give it now,”
where
often
You answer. We mourn
a
furnace, to maintenance life,
alone
in
a crowded temple. The
lights
are dim, for a sudden
glow,
to reach
a
psyche. We’re dying this
growth,
to live this death,
pleased
with
subtle
spurts; and there for good,
a
flaming fire, marked by volts;
in
which
a tale, to chant within,
headed
to liturgy. We love You, Lord—
screaming,
“Here I am,”
running
through splinters;
and
what for cycle—
a
sullen kiss, to greet a whisper.
We
perish in joys, afraid to look, sipping spirits; and more to life, to exit
graves,
to hear for subtleties. We live the faith, to grow in volumes, to
speak
the tribunal; for love is rich, and nearly swallowed, to ask visitation;
and
why us, a torn communication, where silence is treasury. The heavens bend,
to
soar a soul, and both are captured.
Its hell for lights, to conquer death, where
children
are unknowing. Indeed protect, and flourish souls, for “Here I am.” 