Sorry, Anam Cara

Lost I am but she's become
a lovely blade of grass
in a squall of rain
While I thrash on frowning and
shrivelled against ancient pain
(that rhetoric again!)
inside of me still
outside of me

Her innocence knowing, her silence true
so glistening!
unscythed by rules
free of wisdom's cheap furniture
she's still to ever fully forget
that mercy is not mercy
justice not justice

oh blessed how blessed that she may thus move deeper
so richly rewarded, yet unrequiring of thankfulness

but how cursed and ruined I stumble
parcelled up in pharasiacal righteousness
knowing more (or less)
but praying so vainly
for the lost needles eye
in this pitiable sodden bloody haystack
only because i stubbornly desire love to be just...
a weapon

and so craving the comfortless comfort
of motive fumbling for the hopeless hope
that while she lives and breathes
she bruises
she bends...
I lurch I gasp

But bruise and bend she does
and because of me
she does

And yet she grows oh she grows
she does
without me

Well bless her existence for Your Love's sake

and help me!

A poem for S.O.