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My Lord
of Hosts,
Ghost-given splendour in the gardens of my memories.
How I long to take Your hand and walk in that spectral twilight,
Where the mists of oblivion open up to me my greatest ambitions.
Let the sweet touch of Your light rekindle my innocence,
At the altar of Your Love.
As these images dissolve,
Their distorting features reveal another face,
Burning, dog-like,
Which howls in the dawn,
And pads softly down through the forests of my dreams.
Yet that face is Mine alone,
Reflected, mirror-like, rippling,
It's luminescence caught in shattered stained glass,
The ruins of Bethlehem, my answer.
The Divine Simplicity.
Turning, Silently, Eternally,
Embraced by the cool breeze of Your Breath.
So motionless this movement, born out of Grace.
Hand in Hand, Eye to Eye.
My Lord My Love, My Lord My Love.
This is the Point where all reflections dissolve,
This is the Point where Our lips touch,
This is the Point where All connects.
At Each and Every moment Everything Matters.
Each gesture, Each thought, the motivation of Every action,
Everything, Everything, Everything matters.
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