Sizzling desert sand,
I talk,
heat of a wasteland,
I walk.
A long path and no end,
forgot it had a start,
led me away, my heart,
eternal mystic friend.
My knees in the sands,
I pray,
I fold lonely hands,
I stray.
My face burns on the grains,
as my body faces east,
and the work of love's yeast
expands my chest in pains.
Heat dries out my glands,
I hear,
God ties lives to strands,
eyes sear.
My tears cry for your name,
arms reach to touch your face,
growing love carves a trace,
done without blame or shame.
Another seven years I will wander,
as clouds thunder and rivers meander.
Another seven centuries of labours,
as my heart's tailored to God's favours.
I know that day I will rise from the sands,
raise my head above gloomy wastelands,
and in my flesh a strong and beating heart,
your hand in mine, and our path a new start.
Frank Witte
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1514-1508-1497-1500-1493-1514-1513-1500-1495-1493-1500/
