And Not A Candle Lit-

For the whole poem, please visit my dear Roger Good-Man's blog at:

http://www.queerwitness.blogspot.com

A golden bridge between two hearts,
my Lord's and his disciple's.
Sweet lord is raised above sweet slave
by just a foot to show the Way,
but just a foot, for Lord and devotee
are but split by inches high
the one above the other.
Yet face to face,
and breath to breath,
all three eyes to all three eyes,
each looking deep in self for Self,
each searching god for God.

And then I knew that I, the slave,
my Lord I found, the one I've craved
who gives me life until my grave,
a life in Light, in pitch black room,
a Light which floods the naked One
who's lying there as if the sun, as if the Son
Transfigured was in pitch black room,
who births a slave in pitch black womb,
Ma Kali's womb, Lord Shiva's room,
God's Light so bright, it blinds my sight,
and not a candle lit.

soli Deo gloria