The Final Reading

feverish hours enveloping the nights in the driest of consumption. faith appears, not as a matter of question, but consolation to a life stranded in an indifferent condition.

in the final reading, i am but a tumbling shadow, crumbling flat at the only familiar it knows; a persisting loneliness, unbuttoned, down to a bruise. 

let Him know that i have overgrown an insufficiency & distance; too difficult & far-off all concepts of home. 

had the earth refused the covering of rain, no one would realize that it takes only water to smooth these hard edges. 

but what if the drought is stretched in dullness, destined to tightly enwrap a swollen soul inside a liquid darkness; much, much thicker than to contain.. what then? 

the warmth of intimacy

i believe in the sacredness of love when he holds me. 

unveiled, by his gaze. in each moment, he fills me with the beauty of God’s promise of finding togetherness resting within a special heaven on earth. 

these thoughts seek him; the way a lonesome traveler flees for oasis at the noble night. honesty lights my path, his is the courage of always speaking one’s mind, he reads mine like stilled temperature. 

splendidly laid with complete contemplation; proudly, i recognize the reflection of what i am yet to become, & surely capable of being. my heart sings the tunes of blues with the wake of mornings. 

my oh my.

curled gently at an embrace. this is the work of prayer. finally. the coming to manifest. my bath of sunshine pouring over a fatigued lump of loneliness. clothed with the warmth of intimacy, a rushing flood of desire awakens my soul, to feed a deep longing for him.