Call it obsession,
He has to create;
turns His gaze in her direction,
mesmerizing fate.
The plan, He doesn't follow,
She cannot trace His steps,
She is full, appearing hollow,
closer to her death.
And , she believes, because He does,
this task,worth the time.
She lies still while the Hands of Love,
cut the ties that bind.
Mathematics , using clay,
selected from the embers,
water needed will obey,
He alone remembers.
Beautiful tries her best,
ugliness to hide.
underneath is not grotesque,
veil cast aside.
He will strip and He will sand,
taking her apart.
Nothing issues from His Hand,
not born in His Heart.
Through alien strategies
this Husband ,tinker, lover,
blends the oil of anointed peace,
with chaos, it's true mother.
He won't shame and He won't tire,
and He expects the fear,
Consuming Flame that won't expire,
her blood kisses His Spear...
She kneels, ignited ,all consumed,
nothing ,if not Him.
Adorning Him with this perfume,
her tresses, wearing thin.
And I am her, and she is I,
in the silent, stillness,aching.
Tears for the feet of Adonai,
though His lady's heart is breaking....