“Of brutality and love: God”

The talking shadow had its day

It stretched, it lingered, and it failed

I had to sit inside that wake

Not quite believing, not quite at pace

I found the words but not the page

A living writer that ate the sage

I did not know it, did not feel it then

Talking to the gods, seemed out of place

And still this moral centre of things

This call to be straight rather than bent

While bending in order to reach

That slipping light, that rolling height

I did not see the symmetry of things

Never being good at math

It escaped me

Until I could see it as a story

Yet, this is not that tale

This is something else

Trapped in my heart since I was a child

Something beautiful, something constant, something holy and wild

The constant failing

The hidden despair

The trial and error of cosmic love

Does not move you, God