If I should wonder what happens next,
thinking i’ve reached the beginning of time,
aligned with my maker without pretext,
just me and the slate that becomes my rhyme,
then I, in turn, would think of my sweetheart,
and the event that she, in my absence,
completes. What do we do, after the start,
when jobs are not needed, driven hence,
if not communicate with each other—
passing on His specific combination,
the love that makes us love one another?
Her energy, a thing of perfection,
certainly passes the time, and I’m fine.
Inspired by what’s beneath the surface—
the expression she makes, toeing the line,
and resolving, at all times, to please us.
I learn to put his questions aside,
to answer them at a leisurely pace,
becoming privy to what he denied
when faced, alas, with a fall from grace.
Onward, onward, Christian angel, do tell:
proceed from the back, like we always do,
father time approaching with his knell—
the cycle would close, and we’d start anew.
I put myself, at the end, to the test,
smoking out the bad that would trouble me
if i didn’t find comfort in his bequest,
more life, i insist, no end to history,
every number hidden by another,
waiting, like our love, to be rearranged.
From the rabbit hole: i’m quick to discover,
that, with His help, things have changed,
the sorrow, now, that drove me up the wall,
has been replaced, love, to the nth degree:
from a place of darkness—answer His call,
making room, aside, to live and be
His ideal—to my utmost, in every way.
I give reign, then, to the hair on my chest,
the energy, out of me, that makes her stay,
attached, necessarily, then, to my breast,
determined to make me happy as Him,
who, from the cross, created a box,
shutting out the hate that makes us grim,
attaching value when the devil mocks
what, in His eyes, has a heart of gold.
So when the church, or civilization,
gets me down, I come in from the cold,
and invest, then, in His protection.