the causes of the sand
the incredible texture of the sea beneath my toes
send me away.
Let me fly
let me travel down that path that only you can see
and see me in the love of eternity.
Take me hand, take my soul
take me where I can land.
Take me to the pillow that softly calls my name
and the silence that rings loud.
Take me to the peace that only the birds know
and let me rest.
My soul is weeping once again,
my soul dies one more time.
And through it all there is no you,
there is no pillow or bird singing softly.
There is no aria soaring through a cathedral
to take me closer to Mary’s lap.
And there is no solace in the gentleness of the moon on the sand.
My soul dies so that I can find nothing
not the light, nor the breath, nor the very water I was promised.
I feel the pain of the sand, not the warmth of the sun.
I feel the pebbles digging, not the freedom of the water in bath.
I search, I fall, I rise, I die.
And still I look for you, and the pillow that will call my name.