We must die
Again, again
To self
It’s hard to explain
but that is love
And each time we die
For Love,
For Him
We become
More alive
Immaculate equilibrium
And each time
we empty ourselves
Gasping and thin
He fills us
Fuller than we’ve ever been
That’s that way it is
With love
The exact opposite of
Normal
And logical
Or practical
The more we give
The more we have
The emptier we become
The fuller we are
Dying so we can truly live;
How can it be?
Dying so we can truly live;
How can it be?
Oh wonderful, majestic
Mystery
© Janet Martin
Yuriy: So beautifully inexplicable!
ReplyDeleteThank-you:)...to write of love is the most daunting, beautiful, inexplicable, inexhaustible mystery!...and yet, as you may have observed, I love to try again, again, because over and over it leaves me dumb-founded at its limitless wonder!
ReplyDeleteYuriy: That's the junction of Beauty and Truth...and we are the remaining heralds. It's the only way to be and keep others to be.
ReplyDeleteAh-h yes! Poetic, even in your comments:)
ReplyDeleteYuriy: It's not me alone - it's all these who can love and see. : )
ReplyDelete...so, love is not blind then?:) To see and still love is surely love's fullest proof!
ReplyDeleteYuriy: : ) ...to see the things complemented by the feeling... : )
ReplyDeleteYes:)
ReplyDelete