'Vainglory is the bane of us, the humans.' - Mary Oliver
I no longer want to be useful,
anymore.
I no longer exist as one conquered
nor linger in the civility
of sensibility.
Standing in the dark halls
of an exasperated imagination,
groping for direction, feeling nothing,
I ask for a sanctification.
Yet, always I wonder,
where am I?
There are ribbons of life aflame,
Always burning between
the night and the day,
between God and man...
And suddenly, a dove above,
and the earth below,
the burning sun consuming each flake of snow.
Forever the distance
between us.
To discover the room of God
crawl along the dark, mysterious
hallway of imagination, and seek
for the door which has
just a slight angle of light coming out
from beneath it.
Reach for the knob, remembering,
the Light is Love...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey, smoky! i like the sense of exploration in this piece—i relate to it. not sure you'll see the connection, but it reminds me of my poem at the threshold which tries to capture where i was at right before i sensed God speaking to me, and i became a christian. on the last line, indeed, the light is love. -glen