Wayward Pilgrim

How is't, My Lord
I cannot bare Thy pleasures?
Why is't I turn so quickly from Thy bliss?
Abandoning all "excruciating" oneness
I rush to fathoms dark and streets unclean
Is there one thing that can curb this wayward pilgrim
Who stays not home when all the world's obscene?

Drunkard

I have given up drink
But I am drunk on Thee
Each sip doth send me flying
One taste of Love doth deliver me
Heaven bound
Uprooted, the tree sprouts wings
And the birds do watch in envy

Choice

What is sin?
But to live separate from Thee, My Love
What is Hell?
But to prefer to rule o'er a dung heap
Than to serve in the Garden of Eden

The Sickness of Desire

Seeking sweet delight in my dainty disturbances
My petite perturbations wring and wretch
I, sucking sweet nausea from dysfunction's marrow
Heave and wretch and suck some more
Justifying my normalcy
Comparing me to piteous mankind
I, a horror beyond, but reconciled above
Oh, masterful transformist, I
Illusion-maker
How easily thou dost make the false one true
Why do I feast on the thing that poisons me?
No reason will suffice
But raging I fight to better me
And reserve this right to further defiances
But when glutted I be with the sickness of desire
Wounded, I turn
And in pity, I yield
Then
When I do make myself nothing
When I dethrone and disrobe this carnal kingdom
When I quiet my railing commands
Then, gently Thou dost blow away manufactured me
My dust Thou carries on Great Winds
And the Heavens do celebrate my reunion
I reach The Immeasurable
Infinity doth tickle my soles
And Eternity lays a willing woman before me
For I have done naught
Save explode my being in Thee

The Smallness of an Ant

Methinks Thou madest me smaller than an ant
For ne'er have I known service as great as he
Who lives his life for his brothers
Thinks not of self but only others
In truth, I am the least of all the lesser things
Unless I can adopt like qualities of being
The service of the ant
The focus of the beetle
The joy of the butterfly
The patience of the spider
I am outdone!
I see Thy perfection in them
Though they owe not a wit
Yet I, whose brains are full and plenty
Am menaced by flaw and imperfection
Heartily, I wish with all my talents
I could but humbly achieve
The smallness of an ant

Unfolding

A tree might I be to dance with Thee
Thy breath, my breath I breathe
These winds sway me in rhythmic beats
Have me come arching and bending
Unfolding and reaching beyond
The limits I've known

Thou, My Sweet Asylum

With Thee
E'en the Ogres do lay arms at my feet
For a moment
To chat on Thy Name
Each thing that tongue doth trip upon
Has Thy Name in it
Whosoever
Whether beast or man
Devil or Angel
I hear Thee speaking on Thee
Each work revealing Thy face
To I
The witness, agent
Commensurate beam of Thee
Do receive Thee back again
Agony to ecstasy
Ecstasy on ecstasy
Thou peels Thyself back for my revealing
Truth upon truth
Self-dying
Clearing I
Obliterating clinging conceptions
And material non-stuffs
That my vision is clear
That my being is clean
Now
How glorious to detonate this pomp
To dissolve my very wishes
And longingest me
Into
No want
Save my resolve into Thy sweet cradle of
Nothing and All
The Core of the Core
Root of Root
Origin of Origins
Here, I happily resign my being
Do with me what Thou wilt

A World of Poets

Bless the Day!
We've all turned poets
Listen to thy brother
Where do his words point?
Nay, listen
From where do they come?
The same! The same!
Oh, happy play
I took thee for real
Bless the child to be so lost in imagination
But now
At last
At long lost
The world has woken up
And the child inside
Has grown