Unbelievers believe they are right
Based upon a lack of insight
Speaking only of what they see
Disclosing its very paucity.
An inner life they can’t describe
Is greeted with a diatribe
A wholesome fear of being misled
Frightens them away from what is said.
Mistaking faith for blindness
Only fools show kindness
Images appear
From the things they see and hear.
Courage to engage in symbolic thought
May give them a glimpse of what they sought
When truth was found in denying
Things they had not seen for trying.
I steal this poem...I offer you one of mine. You are the first to read it, beside the lady it was written for!
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Cried I? Or just the shiver of a tear
Alarmed my thoughts? Oh, never mind the fear.
Torments me not thy darkened depths. I too
Horribly laugh at death. Staring at who?
Eternity feels like a petty thought
Reduced to nothingness by nothing caught.
I fear not thee! Thy hideous howl nor eyes
Nor do I sigh. My feverish soul cries.
Erase my breath, my fingers scratch the skies.
Departed from myself, my inner core
End of all ends! Thou shall be hated for
What Fate bestowed upon me heretofore.
Oh, spare the meanings of the graced librae
Lost is the Faith, eternal aurae
Fear not, In Manus Tuas Domine!
by Maria Magdalena Biela