Where is the line I cross to raise your ire,
the deeds your sacred truths will not defend.
How quick you are to cast me in the fire-
with supple grace I burn where you won’t bend.
I see myriad colors and their casting
set forth before my feet in bright array.
Life in me and me bound everlasting
not the fear locked path from which you stray.
Is your scope so narrow, viewed so darkly,
no wide lens gaze at all creation wrought.
Can full joy be known when seen so starkly.
who is the teacher, who the pupil taught.
The fault not owned by Christ but Christendom
and neither glorified by martyrdom.
Advertisement
You continue to bring forth the very essence of that which is you. It is not words you write but gossamer wings that take flight, reaching for places yet to be discovered
.