confuse me with your theology

30 Mar

What is the truth, but a quality of perception
That wakes and coils on the fine dunes of deliverance
The sweet lassitude that strengthens our bond, that sells us
The legends of our being, perhaps homeless no more
Perhaps beloved and sure
Perhaps our existence a flame to the universe
A light in the darkness
A worth beyond worth
Why are we favored above angels?
Why are we, helpless and mortal, exalted above those first created?
Why are we loved while others serve?
The mysteries that encroach upon our inherited stories
Ages and ages of questions, we worry
That the truth will exist no more with feeling
That we lie to ourselves to secure salvation
That we shall never live up to possibilities and dreams
Ah, such seduction, the path of rhetoric
The curse and happiness of a mind made full and faulted
To glory in living, to defy death and yet treasure time’s inconsistency
To seek, and fall, and prevail without winning
But all our soul’s stories do crave one spring
One source, one absolution, by definition of our individual being
In the hiatus of reality, with constant agony, we seek above all
an object of love.

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