This marble world of stones and pools,
O'er every land, the divine image bearers,
In creeds of both Saints and of sinners,
Rise to conquer for such paltry treasures,
Which fire the economy of greed and war,
Paying returns in tears and crimson rivers,
Of death.
This mid-aged man, losing his steady lead,
O'er the shadows, yet the divine image lifts,
His steps. And a lonely heart is ever young,
Through the eyes of she whose eyes are gifts.
Her heart harmony, within her lovely frame
The sound moves me, as a fresh wind shifts,
Creation.
This marble world of broken-hearted places,
With all the rest, I screamed against the night,
'Til a day like the first day, all the world is new,
As sight, and touch, even the color of the light.
The currency of sacrament in the economy of love,
Is the grace of her embrace raising me to heights,
Of life.
Renita,
My wife,
I am,
Ever yours.
