I’ve lamented quietly,
ambled slow, but oh, not aimlessly
following the Prophets black stone star
alone on a never lonely sea.
Nameless, like the unlit atom,
all awaits a light that streams
unseen through interstitial shadows,
veiled until Thee and I convene.
A tender wind recites and sweeps aside
strands of cloud from the hidden eyes
of this gray, beleaguered earthen me,
revealing a rose in a clearing sky.
From ashen hearts
weeps sweet oud,
from broken rays
imbued with hues,
this longing is our fermentation,
as from the vine we’re loosed,
to become the wine of all creation
we’re just here for love’s passing through.
The dusty sojourner enters empty
then exits whence he came;
knowing as we love the remedy,
so we must love the pain.
Abscond with mystery… you cannot taste the wine in the grape, nor the grape in the wine. Some secrets within do not ferment with time. #25wtT