This year,
will pass like all years
days will become nights
seasons will bend and disappear
into forests of eternal silence
and no sun shine on the mildew of remembrances.

Lord,
I left you on the pedestal of scriptures
content in your own supernal being
smiling your whimsical smile,
just a thin line of prudence,
barely enough for my soul sustenance.

I turned away
afraid that you would trick me
into saying
I love you Lord
as I have never loved anything;
for that would have been a profanity-

I turned away in haste
away from your beckoning
as your eyes chased me across
the ravines of half beliefs
terrified of letting go,
of slipping into an unknown torpor.

What I lost
now engulfs me with a yearning too late.