Already I ache for all the lives
I will never be a part of.

Nothing that truly matters
Can ever evaporate,
Be excised,
Burnt out of your soul.

Here, illuminated at last,
Nestles the ruddy glint of spiritual certainty;
Sweet moments of passion and healing,
Of sensual release.

Sense how
Even the smooth stones ache
With stories of their own
In the shuddering light of day.

A stream of primal voices
Whispering in the breeze of your heart
To urge you on.

The gilded spiral
Of longings within.
Our very own cathedral
That points persistently to heaven.