Longing for the Impossible
In me I have all of this Longing. Though, a Longing for what, I am uncertain.
It welcomes me with such supple an invitation,and dazzles me with reclusive belonging.
A belonging to and within myself, but calling for me to go beyond.
Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?
Inside me, consists a violent miasma, blooming from my Being unto its bearings.
It drenches me in its damp elusiveness,and it falters only when I laugh with it.
It knows my vulnerability, and it knows what I call home.
Through it, I perceive of what I believe to be pure beauty.
Through me, what it sees is God. Toward the edge, the edge of the possible ...the idea gives me a dizzying vertigo.
Can you even understand what you’ve done to me?
Inside me, consists of the impossible.And only I, I fear, can know it, myself.
It varies from one to the next in infinite glory,
and its indifference suffocates even deities.
It awaits nothing, for everything is in its grasp, and only when you can forget it all, do you even stand a chance.
But where, where does this longing come from?
For all I know is this abysmal anguish.
And where, where did that derive from?
Well, now I believe I have the answer. ...It came from love.
Do you even understand what you can do to me?