Didn’t know
how to be in this God haunted house.
I; Mr imperfect:
short sighted and tone deaf.
I saw things move as by a poltergeist,
heard thuds as though a carpenter lived between floors.
Speaking:
I could not ask and hear.
I’m sure she spoke but I wouldn’t listen.

I don’t want to know about him!
I want him…
I can’t have placating words,
I need love I can feel
I know it in my bones
but my flesh is all serpent like;
Writhing
in it’s own oil spill
of fear and greed
needing a saving, clean-up operation.
I’m sure you want to;
but I do not dare.

I take a deep breath
and look out of the window:
I see it’s raining
and almost trip as I rush outside.
I hope that the rain itself is the tears
of the one my heart seeks,
soaking:
I cry myself; knowing his grief
Freezing: I know the loneliness of all of His
I’m made one of them.

I didn’t know how to live
in this God haunted house.
I;  son,
a lover,
the adulterer,
the unfinished.
I still wrestle with doubt in my darkness
Panting;
I worship silently, unworthily.
Wrecked
I feel the cross of the world wearing me
I’m sure I can’t live in this
without the haunter…