I asked God to raise me up.
He told me to suffer for love.
I tried to touch that flame,
but it burned my hands,
and I clutched the flame,
but it turned to smoke.

Tears in my eyes filled with smoke,
I asked God if the pain would give way
to bliss, if I suffered enough,
if I could manage to hold onto fire.
He answered me with a wind,
the flame danced and almost expired.

But some lowly ember remained.
I thought God was silent,
because wind is quiet and cold.
God speaks, only I
have not learned how to listen.

I asked God for pain, so I could love.
He gave it without a remark, in abundance.
I cried over the pain I had asked for,
and I held tightly to the flame.
It became sharp iron in my fists,
so I slashed at my flesh.

"My God," I cried,
"Have I suffered enough?"
"My God," I cried,
"Have I loved?"
And the wind blew mystery,
and I soothed my burns with my blood.

08/15/2024

Posted on 08/15/2024
Copyright © 2024 Ryan Nardi