I want to be
the words that I read.
I want to be
the amazement, the amazing.
I want to take a picture of myself
and then see in that truth
just the brightest glimmer of what you said.
Ah, god, I hope!
Deep within there glows belief
and it stirs with the force of enough faith
to keep me alive.
Promethean flame, you bring me.
You promise me.
A gentle breeze,
more stirring than all the winds of the earth,
you name me.
Dare I bear this praise?
How is this
admiration
warranted, earned, deserved by me? How?
Is admiration the proper word, the proper world?
Nothing seems proper in this instant,
not even truth...
tonight, all I can do is to cling to this poetry before me
and feel the melting of my heart
slow
to peace,
if only for one sparkling instant.