Gluttony

Is Gluttony Chastity's opposite? 

Am I inside my creed? 

Is my humanity meaningful, 

Without a satiated need?

What do you make of deprivation,

If I call it fasting?

What do you call loneliness,

When it is everlasting? 

My steps make echos on the road.

People follow, when I'm long gone.

The mouth, now smaller than the body.

Why so very different here?

The risk of sate, a formidable fence.

Let every action be clear.

My God.

Imagine my chagrin.

When I realised. 

I was made to worship:

My God was clear. 

Some slipped in:

I worshipped earnestly.

I realise my error.

I stepped outside my creed.

Imagine my chagrin,

When I see

Statues,

All over my heart.

Yes, they were: 

One at a time.

But shrines,

They were.

Righteous I felt,

Wanting the gods together.

Stating Some Intentions

There is no poetry in me right now, so this list will have to suffice:

1. Love in every moment. 
2. Fight (to bloody nose and mouth) for faith. 
3. Hold the shape. 
4. Watch myself commune. 
5. Savor the pilgrimage. 
6. Remove expectation.
7. Insert. 
8. Love yourself, darling. 

Some Small Comfort?

How lonely is God? 

Yhwh must be. 

No point of reference;

No beginning, nor end.

I can't imagine, 

What it would be like to sit in silence. 

For so long. 

You make beings to love You;

But You await their choice.

You want their virtue,

A purity only You provide.

I have a reference point; 

A beginning, and end. 

Sometimes the silence deafens

Sometimes, I have no one to talk to. 

What is it like to be surrounded by fools?

Yet, You choose to love.

You also ask,

To be chosen.

  

Encouragement

She does not use her fists, but her courage. 

She does not overpower, but gently persists.

With conviction, through prolonged thought,

She remains steadfast. 

On pilgrimage, she finds love;

Bringing it home each time. 

She labours the soil and waters the earth;

With patience, she waits.

Exerting herself has become a reward

She must choose wisely to receive.

She crafts strength like jars of clay,

Placing each one in her home. 

Letters to myself

Is this a love story?

Where the hero is I?

Am I prepared to fight for you,

When it barely seems as though you try?

Maybe I'm crazy;

It's probably true. 

Despite the disruption and denial

I'm in love with you. 

It's a special kind of painful

When the love isn't shared. 

Love is a decision

Totally separate from care. 

I say that now, because earlier, even I forgot.

Love is not a disease

To be cured or caught. 

Love is a decision.

So if decision, not bout, 

I cannot cajole. 

Volition required; no corral, nor plea

I must stand here, obviously, and hope to be seen.

To Fill A Need.

That's where that feeling comes from: 

She is the answer to a question.

A barrage, a beckon, a bellow;

All addressed to her. 

To fill a need,

She was made.

So much insight,

So much attention.

Her radiance,

Her sophistication. 

To fill a need,

She was made.

Grace becomes her,

Faith becomes her.

Without these,

She disappears.