She is the place of all my dreams
why can I not be there?
I entered her in sackcloth and ashes,
I departed in mourning,
weeping, kissing, taking with me
the heart of one of her true sons.
Good enough for him, why can’t I
be good enough for her?
Is my heart too pure for her blood-stained streets
or too fragile for the blood lust that she evokes?
Devoted to her vision,
I was humiliated, threatened and scorned
and yet no one succeeded in hurting me.
I laughed with joy
at the miracle of her very being,
her revenge on her destroyers,
from ashes she arose a celestial carrousel
now poems, now daggers,
now screams, now prayers.
I dream of her but she denies me.
I reach out for her
but she turns me away.
In the thin light of morning
I beseech her name and her pity.
When will I sit beside her moon-washed gates
and be enchanted by her midnight splendor?
When will I be able to touch her heart
and be touched by the secret
she guards so severely?
Must I wait until she is worthy
of a man of peace,
must I wait until I until I am
strong enough to stand against her,
to become equal to her danger
and demand that she be holy?
(c) Ceremonies of the Spirit 2009