Plea of the Conquered

At my center there burns a flame,

About my core an infernal blaze,

Upon my brow there rests,

A quandary revealed,

In the resplendent reflection,

Of my gaze.

I am but a man,

Wondering, though ever deeply,

With a might and fierce resolve,

Likened to ferocity,

Resolve that rivals all,

If this fire blazing in my soul,

Is of me or divinely placed,

By heavenly hands,

Most holy,

According to,

Ethereal plans.

About my being,

A light that leads me,

In my mind a holy place,

A calling guiding each of my steps,

Toward a narrow gate,

Golden, eminent, sacred,

Passage to a promised place.

In my eye a vision,

Brilliantly, adorn,

Gentle, tender, in way and form,

Wholly pure, yet provocative,

My immediate, urgent,

Peacefully sage.

Beckoning me,

With particular purpose,

Amusing me with,

Her ways.

I am open,

Emptied,

Bare,

Ceremonially clean,

Naked, but eager,

Anxiously welcoming,

Of the risk to which,

I expose myself,

Of the pain that comes,

With openness,

To the joy brought,

By surrendering,

To the condition less,

Care of accepting things,

That don’t concur,

With my understanding.

And I rest my head,

As to breathe,

Deeply a novel time,

As if oxygen was traded,

For this love of ours,

Or bartered for life,

In kind.

Greedily,

I fill my nostrils,

With this flood,

This epoch of ecstasy,

Volumes of your essence,

Wash away what’s left of me,

Torrents of emotion,

Rush uncontrollably,

Unchecked and left to play,

At their will atop my senses,

Washing away all pretenses,

Having very much their way.

And I can but plead of you,

Mercy, care, and grace,

For I am prostrate,

Laying my soul,

To rest,

Fallen, emptied,

Fated,

At your feet.