Virginal and pure I was,
Your mirror in an eternal smoke and fog.
God I thought has led me there fair,
to salvation as best that It could.
I married my soul to you since,
yearly, monthly, daily I preach,
to yours I became.
Following persistent, impatient, self-shame.
Your steadfast quiet fealty scared me,
I could not comprehend,
that Inaction was an Act of itself.
My need to be shown,
To be guided and known,
To see, believe and preach clearly,
of the love that engulfed in between.
Became abhorrant I’m sure,
or perhaps these are still vestiges,
of the internal eternal whore?
Was I a dark deviant run amok?
Did our hallowed strength run short?
Where is my mirrored soul now?
Why can you not echo my shout?
As we did clear and strong,
on the day that we first met,
How could such purity turn out so wrong?
Also written on Tues 27th on that morning bus. I couldn’t help but think of us.