I cannot but remind myself
of thine sweet forgetfulness.
I cannot but engulf the starts and make the stars shine again.
I cannot but depart into an eternity of my own creation,
& whisper God again
of my own vocation,
& my utter fullness.
Wish I but can’t except remind myself,
of the God uttered when disappeared
with all the screams I’ve heard & feared,
& the sensations of the garish scope;
That struck my eyes in gust & hope,
& sweetest laughs & cheerest smiles afeard
of the fate-struck roads and bittersweet loads
that all sages revered;
That hold within,
As sweet could ever have been
— A nature sealed,
Tarnished if revealed.
Yet rotten if held within,
A silence sweet as sin.
Yet much as deadly creeps,
a silence that never sleeps,
unto forgetfulness.
That whispers God again of my own vocation;
A God of my creation,
One who can conquer sin,
& silence that creeps within;
My utter fullness
— A God & yet a mess
within my own self.

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