Comfort

Comfort Oh, Lord, is this how it will be? Placid as a frozen lake – savvy as the silver serpent that moves beneath it surface? Must I be the same? This is simple lucid dreaming is it not? To come upon a clothing store in age and consent but offered no service? Where amid these shackled hours and entrapped hearts are the conditions for surrender mapped out? I ask you – oh, god-head – make reveal those who would remand the closure of the day, to render wholeness one big puzzle; I’ve no sleep this mourning, my body’s mortality was ticking all night; so as to calm its sacramental rite, I tugged at its extremities to seek an answer there, I poked deep for my soul but it came up mostly air. So, oh Lord now I beg you, I will close mine eyes and pray; fall upon one knee and ask forgiveness stay; oh how you have answered – a thunderous, silent display upon my eyelids back, from the veins of angel’s blood I sense the course my soul is taking, in solace, deep beneath the cask of flesh and sinew to a place of comfort, lord I see, I knew it all along: Your being has been me…