On the beads of Breath
I strung your name
on the beads of breath,
just as saints do,
but my devotion was less divine,
and more…
desperate.
Each whisper of your name
was not a prayer
but a plea.
Not faith,
but hope, begging not to die.
You became my mantra,
not out of belief
but because silence without you
deafens the lands.
Because breath without you
lost all meaning.
All who say that love
is a great ascension,
lie.
I have only fallen,
deep and true.
Yet I do not weep,
nor shout, nor cry.
For I shall fall forever,
and ever,
till eternity passes away,
if I can keep loving you.
Love, the first path to apotheosis,
has made me a destitute demon,
a heathen worshiping only you.
For you are:
my god,
my goal,
my truth.
Every repetition
of your name,
every bead,
every pearl
of the rosary,
pulled from death,
resurrected the beat back into my heart.
I say your name,
quiet or loud,
it matters not.
For the world hears me regardless.
Then what matters
if man does or does not?
Your voice,
your eyes,
your smile,
all that I wish for,
all that I aspire for.
Take from me my life,
but never you.
On the rosary of my yearning,
I counted neither blessings nor curses,
but your melodious words.
Each bead,
a moment your eyes loved me back.
Each breath,
a word spoken to me in love.
Each chant,
every second I thought of you.
If you are the divine,
then I am the damned
who worships
despite the silence,
despite the absence,
despite the truth.
They told me
those who fall in love
find peace.
But I?
I found you.
And that was never enough.
But it was all I ever wanted.
Doubt anything you like
love or lust,
the truth of life,
or the delusion of youth
but never doubt my devotion for her.
For I was loyal,
I am loyal,
and I will be loyal
only to her,
forever to her.