You Heard Me

It was tongue-in-cheek,

Almost a mean-spirited joke,

That I butt ended with myself,

Daring to even dream,

Imagining that an angel,

Would set her sights,

On any man,

Let-alone,

This mere mortal,

In all respects unworthy,

Diligent in my fantasizing,

About, blessings

That never happen,

To an ordinary man,

Like me.

I should have known better,

Living in this miracle bereft,

World that I was trapped in,

But it hadn’t at that moment,

Dawned upon me,

The possibility of this irony,

Happening,

Birthing quandary upon anomaly,

Until there you were,

Standing to greet me,

Halo tilted, but in tack,

Pristine, adorn in southern light,

That blinded me to all,

But this dream-like state,

That I refuse to escape,

Stockholm syndromed,

Stowed away, it seems,

Never waking, still,

But not motionless,

In mind, nor body,

As my soul,

Surges in a vibrance,

That believes in miracles,

Despite me,

Finding myself trying,

Desperately to take control,

Of things on your side of,

This dream,

Carefully enjoying this true illusion,

Wanting so badly to promise myself,

A guarantee that this is unending,

To never wake if dawn brings,

Even flashing seconds,

Of a reality without you,

I choose to own the tomes,

Of solemn prayers,

And offerings up,

That render your presence,

A thing from beyond,

My conscious,

Outside the grasp of,

My hands, much too flawless,

For my mind to know,

Negotiated with my soul,

Yet given to me of free will,

Now and forever,

Not earned, no blood spilled,

I will be forced to admit,

That God exists, indeed,

For me, with prejudice,

That calls me prodigal,

Upon this, my return eternal,

Conditioned upon you,

Being here for all time,

More tangible than sublime,

Your hand in mine,

Forever,

And these prayers,

From depths fathoms below,

Where mortal thoughts live,

Where I thought I’d never,

Be readily pressed down

To bent and bloodied knees,

Bruised from bending,

Roughened by fervent pleas,

As passage to being held high,

Pleas that must surely echo,

Through time and across the heavens,

Entreaties raised for myriad years,

Begging that has noticeably not fallen,

On uncaring or calloused ears,

Now, I can no longer,

Question, by comparison,

If my father reserves blessings,

For only those greater men,

Chosen from before time,

To lead, and boundlessly flourish,

Inhaling air that lesser men,

Never breath,

Lavishing them with queens,

Of historic beauty,

That nurture endless lines of kings,

For I am but a man,

Formed from the base of ash,

As remarkable perhaps,

Or less, than any grain of sand,

Edging the bottom of the sea.

Yet, you rest lovingly on my shoulder,

Toning my heart with your peace,

Holding me tightly,

As to forever subdue,

Any fears that I have of your fleeing,

And for this, Father,

I am so thankful,

And astonishingly overcome,

By her,

Your extravagant answer,

To every detail of my incessant pleas,

That I will serve you through,

Your angel,

In protection, honor, and fidelity,

And my undying love,

Offered up from bended knees.