V. H. King's Ink

For the Spirit of the Sacred, 
thrumming through 
the Lawless body: 

the Letter rules itself 
obsolete;

this be a nameless thing 
and still I speak.

refusing confession, 
recounting witness

testimony of mystery

scorched by steeples, crossed by
my way of life on the other side
of what they call tragedy. for them,
maybe. my focus lies elsewhere,

betrays my better things to do. 

i ask myself, what kind of person
do i want to be? and i think

one that accepts the smoke, 
the fire, the wilt, the rage,
the waiting, the un-knowing

and still knows how to be kind.

candle of the day: Wild Fire