I walk through deserts I created myself, Wear the dust of a shattered Eden on my belt. You still whisper in tongues I half recall, But every word cuts slow beneath my shawl. I search your name between the stones, Where prophets of the night still moan: “Love is a wound that slowly heals.” But I still feel it. You are fire and water, Burn me empty, save me later. I fall, I fall, but hold me fast Love and pain, the same glass. You are the voice inside the thunder, A gentle light beneath the under. I drink you in, though it breaks me through Love and pain run together like time always do. I hear you in the psalms of my heart’s own chambers, A sacred storm through shadowed dangers. You call to me like an angel without wings, A miracle hiding between broken things. I trace your steps in every silence, Where words slip bleeding from my hands: “Love is a cross I still must bear.” And it pulls me near. You are fire and water, Burn me empty, save me later. I fall, I fall, but hold me fast Love and pain, the same glass. You are the voice inside the thunder, A gentle light beneath the under. I drink you in, though it breaks me through Love and pain run together like time always do. I wash the shells of guilt away at night, But you remain the breath beneath my collar tight. Even when I run, you find me still, A story old as dust and distant hills. You make me whole, you make me harder. I fall, I fall, but you hold me fast Love and pain, the sacred glass. You are the storm that breaks me clean, A heaven I am reaching for unseen. I drink you in, though it tears me wide Love and pain, our holy fight.
