Where are you?
Come, though quotes construed
in careless form,
Let me see your face,
your fearful frame.
Come, though trepid and terse
your timbre trembles,
Let me hear your voice.
Indeed, I know the apple
has fallen
far from the tree.
Now to draw, not to drive,
Seek ye I.
Near in judgment that provides,
I come.
May I still address you,
Creator King,
Covenant One?
Treading your turf,
I'm afraid we've made hollow
what was held hallowed
even your sacred song.
I'm afraid we've smeared
the sacramental surprise
of innocent encounters.
I'm fearful
of this naked nuisance
nearness now brought to naught.
I would weep,
yet even emotion,
the oozing of heart through orifice,
is an empathetic transcendence
you've yet to make immanent.
Is there a way?
A way of reorientation
that doesn't trail eastward?
A way of reintegration
that keeps us intact?
A way of broken intimacy
that will taste in the slightest
like the Garden we now grope
with grief and gore
maybe to grasp some inch of your greatness?
For all the ways we've wasted this lot,
You unleash Heaven's hell-bound plan,
Tutored in somatic song,
Lament is language you have taught.
And come now we,
broken, breaking, to be broken again before You,
until you piece us back to peace.
Empathetic, horrified,
Immanent now, with tear-filled eye,
I curse the ground you mortify.
Hand-in-hand, leading I
desire deep to rectify
all-in-all from earth to sky.
And lo, though no longer in Eden,
I am with you.
Still with you.
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