In the House of the Dead

My only limitations are the ones I place
As impediments myself artificially
In an arbitrary contravention of grace

I know no one can limit me except for me
The soul which sees through these eyes animates this face
Only as effectively as I dare to be

I care enough to dare to be effective when
I live to die a blooming fruiting seeding flower
And anyone like me who doubts should see me then

Unfettered by convention I rise past my hour
When those with faith no more have crucified themselves
To join their ancestors on mausoleum shelves

In the house of the dead I lift my left hand
Turning ever eastward and returning still
Not needing nor expecting to understand

I expect if I need to understand I will

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVIII