Poetry

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they shake their robes and say,
'where is your faith?'
i beat my naked breast and cry
through the tears,
'it is here, for God to see.
holy i am not but here i am.
naked and free though it cost me everything.'
bowing my knee to the ground,
i wrestle still through the mud and crowd,
bending my heart to a Higher Will.
though it would steal my breath away,
that last gasp, let loose in awe,
is worth more to me than a life full of lifeless air.

and so i wrestle,
naked in the market streets.
the world may call me crazy and incomplete,
but i have something to say to that.
their clothes, their homes,
their honored seats.
their busy lives and heart concerns.
their market wares and ripe pockets;
all this is but a passing thing.
many have come down this street before
and still i see them
strolling alleys much the same as this,
though they would call it 'progress'.
few that i can see,
still wrestle in the market streets.

but i challenge you, passerby.
join me in the mud of life
and leave the lifeless air behind.

"seeker"

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