Friday, December 10, 2021

Certainties of the Elect

It is nothing that is the creation
As if just for women
Because their hearts are too large.

Men of prayer put up the veils
With upmost care and subtlety
For the light was too strong,

Generating on its own,
Too obvious to be seen
By anyone but the faithful

Who know nothing of the walls
Painstakingly put up
By the suffering and artifice of man,

Or even which ones are temples
And which are jails,
Only that the only thing that matters

Is the green water of love
That grinds down the destruction 
To sublime design

Through prayer alone,
Without an outward hand to sully the miracle
Or help the profane understand.