Damascus


A troubled heart troubled still as I walk in the valley of the shadow of death but Im the shadow of that valley as I strike them with one rod while another comforts them why wont they die as I strike them with My Left as your right upholds them all Ill kill them inhale Ill kill them exhale Ill kill them inhale so on and so forth I walk as the dust of My sandals covers their face while Mine is clean Mine is pristine following none but MySelf on this dusty Damascus road and
then—

a Light . . .
i’m Yours . . .

an Emanating Illumination
eliminating all i thought i knew.
a Light i’ll see no more until
i see Your Face again.

There-

in that Place where every taste
is satisfied;
every desire fully known,

and consummation here,
but until such appointed time
i wait . . .

and endure . . .

a darkness, a pain, a thorn:
a longing for the Light
that keeps me running-
keeps me racing.

a longing for the Light . . .
a longing for the Sight

that took mine,

but left me not in darkness
then, now, and nevermore.

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One thought on “Damascus

  1. Pingback: My Grandfather’s Passing (Hope in Death?) | the long way home

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