Forgive me, my rapturous longing.
Bellowing with an echo too ancient to expire.
All the trees tremble in the westward wind.
All animals seek shelter from storm.
Humans shirk the elements and cling to whatever refuge they may find.
Yet ye let me, my soul, lurch and gouge the painted sky.
Bickering wordlessly about what fathomless distance ye saw fit to separate us by.
A husk of creation weighted down by your gift of unveiled truths and memories.
Such matters most blessed’ and renowned,
and yet they scorch my hands which grasp mindlessly at your rising, falling sunlit sky.
Catching rays of your sun far more full and affecting in your divine presence.
It’s as though I am catching fiery arrows that rain down on myself alone.
Fired from on high from the sheaths of Eros and the pain that follows him always.
They rain for me alone but only in this matter and moment.
Simply one of the many you have ordained so uniquely and respectively.
All wondering why you dared to bless us so absolutely.
Impossibly visible as you do.
Us, long having begun to tremble as you journey towards our hearts.
The mass of you threatens to rip us from the earth.
An undeniable gravitation.
A true center.
The source to remember.
I am made raw by your gifts.
I am flayed alive and consumed by the presumed relief of the waters of creation.
I can hear the waves crashing over themselves for all that has been or will be.
You will see fit to set me aflame, and, if I’m lucky, you might just see fit to watch me drown.