Monday, August 22, 2011

Sweet Crimson Wine (Give me more of it)



These hands have naught to hold, 
without Faith in that Other; 
For without Faith, 
these days would be far too insignificant,
Just a pain and a bother, 
empty meaningless chasms 
Spent hoarding coins and collections, 
Ruing my end, like any other.

And so if my choice is
To see by flesh alone,
Or to live and die 
In the realm of dreams,
I choose to believe 
In that conscious unseen,
I choose to believe 
In the Spirit and the sheen.

For our minds are beyond our measure,
How much more so our mind's Maker,
so why do we hope to tether
the Supernal to such short stakes, here?

Some will say I am delusional,
Intoxicated by the honeyed Words 
Of some strange and dangerous Mystic.
And I will sing in free verses,
If I am drunk, give me more of it.

For my soul thirsts
For that sweet crimson wine 
Of pure astonishment.

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