The Mercy
There's a sickening that happens with time.
No matter the purity of purpose or substance
of any thing which is born,
slowly the munching mould and corruption
will twist and distort its form.
Heaven's children quickly fall down here.
Spinning around oblivious
on our private ball of water and rock,
we crave that which runs at desire
and remember broken dreams of our home.
Memory is not immune to this decay.
We recall poorly and then believe it
forgetting that we are a mystery,
while slowly the roots of our identity
grow bent in the soil of false history.
Only the mercy of heaven saves us.
The love which we can't feel
yet which fills our every breath
and lifts us as we walk along
and closes our eyes when we sleep.
DH ([email protected])
No matter the purity of purpose or substance
of any thing which is born,
slowly the munching mould and corruption
will twist and distort its form.
Heaven's children quickly fall down here.
Spinning around oblivious
on our private ball of water and rock,
we crave that which runs at desire
and remember broken dreams of our home.
Memory is not immune to this decay.
We recall poorly and then believe it
forgetting that we are a mystery,
while slowly the roots of our identity
grow bent in the soil of false history.
Only the mercy of heaven saves us.
The love which we can't feel
yet which fills our every breath
and lifts us as we walk along
and closes our eyes when we sleep.
DH ([email protected])