Today I stood outside myself like a sparrow alone and astray,
lending an ear to your pleading voice lovingly calling me to pray.
Inside myself I felt the comfort of the dawning light of night,
like an owl in the desert watching, waiting, not a soul's come into sight.
Beyond myself I saw a garland of roses pillowing upon an unslumbering sea,
as the wind replied with dips and rise, crying, What's left of you and me?
I waited like a little child in a bold self-centered place,
as time flew by void of a miracle worthy of God's special Grace.
I went through the course of love's fresh-found sensations
and played with the visioning powers of philosophical divination.
I burned bridges and felt no distress when in lone times
shoots of misery caused me to commit sins of the flesh.
I stopped myself from hoping what I had hoped for before
and saw old souls and angels fly past me amid a huge sea wall.
I took a chance without myself and sought false intellect,
among a feeble crowd of men their words I did select.
I grew accustomed to standing meek-eyed at the musical sounds of birds,
and from there I withdrew from the sweet tasting dew of a whimsical angel's laughter.
Much riper in years I cry the solemn tears of what make men a transparency.
It's the unworthy feeling of being freely given, any special fate.
Time has touched this girl ghost with misconceptions and horror shows,
yet I plant the seeds and feed them with love in the hopes we all shall grow.
The sun now shines upon me, I am here and you are there.
As I withdraw within myself again, my soul alone and bare.
There once was mighty passion that burned tall, high and free,
but doubt and love's long suffering left nothing of you and me.