Falling, Sinking
I am falling, falling, falling—
into the cycle of living and dying,
again and again without end,
unless I break the circle,
unless I meet God and deal with Him.
Isn’t He supposed to be all-loving?
Why does He ignore me? Quo vadis?
Would He hear my prayers, would He care,
if I were beautiful, bold, effrontée?
He is Father, Almighty—yet still a man.
Even priests love beauty beneath their cloaks.
I am sinking, sinking, sinking—
into a sea of fathomless sadness.
Ships pass. People see. No one helps.
I call on God, Jesus, Mary, Archangels,
angels, principalities, saints.
Compassion withheld. Of course.
Heaven calls it faith by ordeal. Lo resto. Sempre.
Tears dissolve into the waters.
The sea enters my eyes again and again.
I try to shout—only bubbles rise,
a comedy of drowning,
my voice bursting into silence.
I wished for everything.
I was favored with nothing.
So God punishes me for wanting it all—
for wanting to be someone’s one,
to ache in flame and amour.
But longing is trouble,
ire answering desire.
So I lie in bed at night,
imitating hunger-shaped love in secrecy.
But He found it. They saw it.
And now comes punishment:
perhaps one day I will wake in darkness,
sightless, sunless,
never again to see my beloved’s face,
those eyes blue as sky.
All because I wanted to be loved—and to love.
Some make a pact with the Devil. Ex nihilo nihil fit.
But I am a Catholic girl still.
I will make a deal with God:
I will give Him what He wants,
and keep my eyes—Fiat lux.
If I must run across fire-thorns,
if I must dwell among ghosts,
I will do so for love of my beloved.
Ad astra per aspera.