I cease existing
not being life which has killed me
nor was it death himself;
love most assuredly it was not either.
I ceased existence by mere words
unutterable words, thoughts,
those that virulently spread.
Remember feeling such?
Estranged, yet constant
straining away not impurities, but
the holiest of sanities!
Have you not felt such inside
always there, yet asleep,
you know it's there, but no sound?
It is that which has a name,
a name yet none speak it
nor readily admit presence.
The food of martyrs and prophets
an incessant urging violation
though others see it a miracle,
as if to hold counsel with the gods
attainable by man.
Sever the limb the feeling lives
so what then does it take,
to end this
that unutterable lineage of words,
words to thoughts?
It wouldn't be so wonderous
nor miraculous would it be,
to indeed hold countenance with self...God?
Nicole L. Davis Vergara