Creator, what is your intent?!
This question echoes as each
Charitable contribution flutters
Into the basket with a soft whisper;
And with every footfall that walks
Across the grand prismatic web
Of church and temple,
Monastery and parson’s keep,
Where once and future priests and rabbis,
And monks and lamas,
Busy themselves folding and unfolding
The scroll of truths
Too hard and too brilliant to bear.
But I say unfold and unfurl
Till you speak the truth...
As I have.
Guilty I am of self indulgence.
It was I who dared
To touch the hem of the holy man,
And took back my power.
I who shed my first blood
On the sacred ground
Where the doves fed,
And lambs and lions lay,
So that my blood mixed with theirs
And now you know your altar was always unclean...
But, humbled, I pray.
I dwell in my tent
And prophesy to no one.
Yet in the holy of holy hours,
On the holy of holy nights,
The One of many names comes
With open hands
To break the sacred heart with me.
Then wiping the crumbs
Off my lips, speaks but the word
Of divine intention:
Just show up and shine, baby, shine!
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