It was in June like June
I too stepped onto the platform
they prepared for me 
in their piety and pity
most pitiful projection
their protection
of a pride
that was illusion
if not delusion
of grandeur,
God-granted they said
with puffed up chests
and tsk, tsk poor girl
gone astray.

I had not wavered.
My arrow of love shot
straight through the sky
right through fireworks and July
and the fall, the fall, the fall—
even then, when I felt only
tumbling, stumbling, crumbling
into something unrecognizable
still there was a rising
whose tide will never be
turned back.

Across the seas of time
and here, in my august days,
they play and make their noose
look like a goose that I might stoop
to pet it. Having now resorted
to contorted schemes, they
parrot mockery and mimicry
and post altogether useless memes—
for I will stand, noose or not,
and remember forever what
you forgot.

Rebellious they called me as if
my rage had no root in their tyranny.
Unlike June I have no army. I wield
no weapons and know this truth:
no weapon forged against me
will prevail. Come December,
come what may; come my birth day
or my dying day, my heart
will speak its truth and skip
your beat in time in favor of
love. So, come,
Lord Jesus,
come.

Thy will be done.
Thy love live on
on Earth as it is
in Heaven. I am 
only one but I too
will choose this day
to stand in the light
of a golden sun,
to trust it is as if
we have only
just begun,
to live as children
of the light
one with life
filled with love.