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…
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