Firmly weaves this fabric, desolation...
but still...
and stillness shall not steal
thy permanence that thou hast stored
within my savored treasure chest

In torrents... rain doth fall,
salted full;
and days...
long days, they yield to longer nights
but hold...
and holding thee shall always free
my spirit from all sense of mere mortality
amid the broken dreams we never knew

No shield of armor strong
could save me from thy sharpened blade so true
for thou hast pierced
all layers this heart long hath built

And hopes we saw escape from us
were those that never mattered
like roses cut too soon shall quickly wilt...

And any harm I've done to thee
is but a fatal wound... to me;

for 'tis [thy] heart that was my own
and knowing then that mine was owned... by thee...
I seek...
And seeking touch shall fill me full
if touched by thee
and by thy grace I mayest somehow be
forgiven once and all
for trespass borne upon thy soul so free.
  Poetry anthology: Whispers in the Wake