So, I’m living for nothing but His love,
this real or imaginary companion,
more aligned with God than me, hereof,
though, in time, i might shine like the sun
that shined, once, on Him. I allow for that
possibility, since, in heaven, the sky
is the limit. I sound my way like a bat,
seeking proof, then, that i do not die,
but live forever, instead, just like Him.
Why shouldn’t I think as such, making way,
in this life, for a thoughts that do not dim
when compared to what should lead me astray,
if, in fact, I was truly a bad seed?
Frequencies align, and, with that, energy
takes shape, correcting what i wouldn’t need,
if, that is, good should pay the devil’s fee,
and leave us in chaos. But that doesn’t seem
to be what happens, since, to date, i’m wise
to say—i’m at peace with all that i redeem,
and i claim, at last, the ultimate prize:
the love that He feels for me. So, i keep
myself to myself when nobody’s around,
and, when they are, I put them to sleep
with the assurances that i have found,
making way from the cradle to the grave.
Now there’s nothing left to sell me short,
since He’s the one that I choose to save,
steering clear of the life that i’d report
if, somehow, out of hurt, i lost my way.
I need Him now like I needed Him then,
when, for shame, I went living each day
as if i was favored among all men
for being God’s gift to the universe.
Of course, it doesn’t work out like that—
you can stage every line that He’d rehearse,
and find Him subject to mortal combat,
at the mercy of those you seek to please.
True love only comes upon request—
a moment, then, that we’d want to seize,
if His love, upon asking, could be depressed.
I turn, next, to my heavenly stash—
a roundabout way of fixing the past,
living out the dreams that i rehash,
assuming the role that i was cast.