i don't have faith in the fear, i fear the faith.
the glory of God has belittled the glory of beauty,
of purity, of grace.
the glory brings forth the wretched,
the damned, the foulest of existence to the surface.
i can bask in the beauty without the glory of God,
beauty in the color of his eyes when it rains,
in the way hers are golden, reflecting the summer sun.
beauty in the delicacy of confessions,
in the ripples they make underneath the skin.
beauty in the crashing surf at night,
in the simplicity of breathing, just being.
i don't need a savior,
i've done that for myself
with the help of my grey-eyed guardian angel.
God's glory has been clandestine,
and I'm not looking for hidden meanings;
not when all of this earth bound beauty is here
to touch, and to feel, and to see.
one day i may give into the mystery
but in the present i fear the faith
and i wont put my faith in the fear.
Monica O'Connor's Other Poems
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