They told me that places of worship are quiet,
On the altar of love,
Silent screams echo into the night,
In the sermon on Sunday morning,
The priest said lust is vile,
It is sin,
For God is love,
Pure and simple,
While in the temple of the mind,
The priest cannot see the longing of the kind,
Not even myself,
Feel it rising up, silent,
Vaporous, misty, singeing, blistering,
Belongs to me, in the privacy of my mind,
It sweeps through in darkness, in the labyrinths of the mind,
In its wake catches wings,
And is one of a kind,
As it flits and flies through the mind,
Carrying in its wake the desires of the night,
Lust and unity is also worship,
For God is love,
And I need no sermonizing from the priest.
© Mathew Thomas,2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem