Possessions

Oh the beautiful perilous pursuit of the one who made me and wants me with burning passion. How could I withhold any part of myself from his consuming flame? In his hands he holds both sides of my face, commanding my attention, not letting anything else fill my gaze. Oh the pain of his grasp. How I long to look to the right or left, but his glory remains too ghastly to stray. How ugly my pale, colorless, shocked gape must appear in the luminescent rainbow of such wonder. How wretched I feel, unworthy of his undivided attention; yet still tempted to not return the same exclusive interest. What more could I long for but this brilliant man, this figure, blinding before me. 

I shall not look away, for the “beauty” I find beyond his face appears drastically drab and colorless now. In the dim light surrounding all apart from Him, what “beauty” can be found? I struggle to gather up belongings, plow through possessions; hoard in the storehouses of my heart the gold idols cast in frantic pursuit. The impossibility of stolen beauty; a fake tin barren wasteland. His warm, fleshy spirited body before me, and I yearn for the emptiness. 

What glory have I not yet tasted that causes me to yearn for anything apart from his ability to satisfy and quench the very thirst in my bones for beauty? What brilliance am I unaware, that love apart from his supernatural omniscience appears more suitable? 

Dismantle the shelves within my heart where I have stored up sticks, bricks and rags; the measly accumulation of dirt ashamedly weighs my spirit down. I sag and stagger behind, when pure nothingness is all you call me to possess. You hold my face and command my attention. Me, you say, I am what you long for.

Make You, your untainted beauty my sole desire.