Metanoic Musings

Apologies are the art of shaving away
  the bits of yourself that lead you astray
Surgeries for the soul, their pains bites deeply,
  but, though hurting, they can only proceed meekly
  instead of raging as you die a little,
  a little death to instead live more
  but a death nonetheless.

Which do you treasure–your future, or your past?
To ally yourself with the die you’ve cast
  keeps you off the operating table,
  keeps you whole, but disabled.
The wrongs you have sown have grown and entangled,
  they grip your clothes, holding you back.
To carry on is to expose your shame,
  naked for the world to see,
Or else you can languish here, lame,
  content to lie among the weeds.

Which weeds will wear down your will to endure?
Where will you abandon your thirst to be pure?
When will your senseless seeking cease
  and give way to eternal rest of the soul
  instead of tiring on this endless race
  pursuing your impossible goal?

Guilt and shame cannot drive you on–
  shame is the very anchor that holds.
To seek the Good to please the world
  is to gain the pyrite to lose the gold.

Only love can outlast shame and fear,
  the sound of the miraculous haunting your ear
  the scent of the divine enticing effort from your bones
  when wearied beyond repair.
The signs are subtle–a Sacred Wind,
  a sweet breath of life passing through the air,
  then gone, only savored in your memory,
  only savored if you save the memory,
  or else forgotten amidst the tearing thorns
  and who would brave briars without a course?

But if you listen, it is ever close,
  you will start to hear the song
  to the dance of all the world in harmony
  with a place for you to dance along
And, lost in the dance, shame wanes and fades,
  the eyes of the World lose their sting.
Your nakedness sacrificed, a winning trade
  to gain the ransom of a king.

Sacred Wind, fill my sails,
  and rip my anchors away.
Safety I will forever abandon
  to journey on each passing day
And one day my ship shall fail,
  as every ship has failed before.
I seek not harbor on a distance shore,
  from which none have returned to tell the tale.
I seek not treasure on the ocean floor,
  beneath the waves, beyond the veil.
I seek but my love, ever fleeting,
  never caught, always teasing,
  always more than worth the price,
  for this love, alone, I give my life.

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