Poor is my offering.
Indeed, have I none,
save the beating of my heart.
Other's rituals hold no power for me,
as caught as I am without thine embrace.
Each festive tune becomes a dirge.
Why celebrate, if I can not dance?

I am heathen in their eyes,
my religion is too hidden for them.
But Thou art my silent call,
All the reason for my being.
They, who are able, shout thy names.
I can only whisper.

My heart is a maze without thee.
I steer in blindness.
There is no compass for this loss.
My tongue, she waggles for the stranger,
but closes to those who know her.
I am too scared to be much revealed.

Stand thee now,
o solid solid stone.
Would that thou were willing flesh.
Or better yet, that I be stone with thee,
if this is ought that is left to me.

Yet,
this world of greenery,
deep blue lakes
and wild things,
she beckons to me.
She claims me.
I am not finished with my part.
The ground became my friend when none else were.
This dirt upon which I stand is my deliverer.

O wretched savior

Parting to me good will,
some solace
when I wanted none.
My bitterness blows in the wind
As nothing.
For who can stay angry at she who saves?

I was buried.
Now alive again,
Yet still my fingers tremble
with the longing.
I can not play the harp today
or even cymbal
to send my petition.
My rhythm is a kilter.

My knees they falter.
On the floor then,
Tis a beggar am I,
Even with all my treasure.
I can only kiss thy cold marble hem.
My lips are lonely.

Even so,
Even so,
I must each day greet,
and do the same ol' tasks as before,
yet different.
I lay sweet rushes at their feet,
wash my face, comb my hair.
My house I must maintain,
despite myself.

In all this,
There is a hope I have.
A small indication,
that my 'foolery is not
the sole wish of a fool,
An' my desires are not too base for thee.
Perhaps my way was strewn with flowers,
and my road was not so dim as I thought.

Perhaps.

Now surrender I,
My words at thine alters.
If my heart you can not accept,
then take thou my tears.
I will not linger overlong.
I have met the sun before,
I will meet it likewise tomorrow,
come yea or nay.
Let us therefore part or join,
That I may know my path into the day.

Seasons of the Gods

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