The exile

I do not want to transgress from thing to thing.

Knowing and knowing and knowing to lose the self in the sea of knowledge and desire.

I do not want to taste of the fruit and toss it away and seek another fruit.

I do not want to transgress boundary after boundary.

Forever be the wanderer, like Cain lost on the Moon.

I have stolen from the pear tree. It is in the act where we have fallen.

Wanting to be God. God of my own life.

What am I left with but dust and longing.

What I need is hope. Hope that the past, present moment and future will be redeemed.
Amidst the hell, amidst the pain, seeds of hope.

Faith and God’s love carry me on.

Tired of all the songs of false love, wandering, betrayal, discontent, pain caused by transgression.

Tire of seeking and not finding. Curse you Don, curse you Dorian, the hopeless wanderer.

Exile created by one’s own desire and falsity.

Out of Egypt, lead me. Shake the sand from my being. The desert dryness, sapping all energy. All purpose. Lead me to Jerusalem, where I can die in peace.

The exile of the poet. Purpose to all the pain. A resurrection to eternal life.

Survival is what kills.


I want a love eternal. I know Who that love is, but I deny it every day.

I want a love that reflects love eternal. I had it but pushed her away. Then another shattered like a mirror.

Who but God alone can satisfy, fulfill, culminate all our longings?

Lord, I have lost myself–a large part of myself. But I see your love and grace working within these dry bones daily.

I want to share this life with someone again. Not just anyone.

But who? When?

How long?



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