Weaponized Loss

In solitude, I've discovered the purpose of destruction,

Where one is moved by the glory of the lonely, penetrating wound;

Afire in its throes, I'm roused by detachment's seduction,

And by the rapture of loss, I am attuned.

With each heart of hearth now buried and sealed, the cost of my violence is cheap.

Survival consumes creation in the quiet of God's sleep.

Love bends its knee before power's crowned head;

The fancies of her dream burn away from their shackling bed.

New arms gleam in the light of isolation.

Blades spark against the whetstone of grief.

My steel sharpens with every fresh departure,

As I train in the art of letting go.

 

My tongue is pointed by the great hope-hunter's spear.

My mouth is smeared with the shape of every forbidden question.

He taught my lips to trace them.

I water the seeds I was gifted,

And from neglect's fertile grounds, have I fed.

The harvest cup flows with the breath of the adversary.

In drinking deeply, to His will, I am wed.

New arms gleam in the light of isolation.

Blades spark against the whetstone of grief.

My steel sharpens with every fresh departure,

As I train in the art of letting go.

For when the voice of love is silent or unjust, one must ready the soulfor war.

One must ready the soul for war.