Romans 1:4

[zealot]

What is in a name? By what glory
do you stand before me, and shout your
radiance? What right have you?
I am among the dead men; they
breathe and die, are reborn a second
time, and quest for the eternity of
the horizon. They smile plastic smiles,
pure smiles, lustful smiles, mad smiles,
all the while counting their toes
and dancing on thin air. They suck up
the blood of flesh, and dry their teeth
on beggars’ rags. They know nothing, yet
everything. They chisel their name
on temples, and compose ballads to the sun.

The magnificance of the light beyond the sea;
we strive everyday, sacrificing our children,
like lambs upon the altar of dolls; we forget the
wisdom of our grandfathers, and in lieu,
we fight amongst the circles of time, believing
ourselves to be heralds’ of the coming age.

Our savior is a breath away. He dreams when
we are awake, and stirs us in our fantasies;
he has no tangible name - for it is impossible to
name love. It merely is, yet it is not dead,
like the sun or moon, with their lifeless shores;
it is alive, spinning, transforming, becoming, arriving;
we are poles to this grace; we fall into his arms.