the death of defeat
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What rare heart you have that puts upon my own
At first too much
to bear. And now here, in this hallowed place,
at last comes understanding I may share,
at last comes grace.
This mighty triumph lifting, agitated demons shifting,
clouds of concern - conceptions mindless motions
always luring; now are gone,
replaced by the calmness of your claiming intuition.
replaced by the directness of the absolute;
a fall that needs no parachute.
Down from precipice, down from altar;
down from the drunkenness
of weaknesses’ intoxicating hold.
fallen to height, fallen to might,
fallen to the strength within surrender.
the grandeur and the splendor
of the found.
If I could give you pause to know
the certainties of life;
breath of every new direction flowing,
breezes lifted from
the summer’s endless passing
to carry you upon them
with the gift of your awareness
separate and complete;
enjoined to share with sweetest relish
all your life with need of no embellishment.
rest upon the nearest respite’s offering,
face to face, with every entertaining moment.
cheek to cheek with love’s brushed sentiment
where there is no room for confusion
or stalwart salient sureties,
with visceral compliance to your manifested needs.
For I have need of needs as you.
Love’s surprise in the blink of your eyes,
curve of the world in your lips unfurled,
knowledge of bliss in the touch of your kiss,
and the death of defeat in your love.
Copyright © vernon witmer | Year Posted 2021
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