Self Righteous Suicide

When there was nothing in this
Bereft aching heart,
It was you.

When I wandered lost within myself
It was you, it was you
Who found me.

The happy, happy faces glimpsed
At lit squares of familial warmth and fire,
What did they know of my cold? This
dark stranger.
It was you, it was you.

Who gave me a home within
Those sparkling, smiling eyes;
In that carefree touch.
It was you, it was you.

Who helped me discover myself;
It was you, it was you.

You whom I cannot fully see,

You lie in wait of me, wait
For me to absorb the light.
Wait for me to become the Light.
O, how much longer shall I have to wait!

To love you.
To give myself up to you.

It is you,
Whom I find
In the stirrings of the lonely minstrel’s lute;
Singing of his love to his Lord.

It is you,
Whom I witness
In the solitary caterpillar’s flight to freedom.

It is you,
Whom I hear
In the bleating of the lamb, and in
The soft song of the pursuing shepherd-girl.

It is you.
You whom I feel in the silk
Of the spider’s hand-woven home
Which dissolves so prettily on my touch.

You who grant the birds their voice
The antelopes their grace
And the nubile maiden, her
Precious innocence, and her
Delicate beauty.

Take me within yourself, so
That I may cease to be.
I’m tired of living, and wearing these masks.
Kiss so that I may taste freedom
And for the first time,
Let me be me…

…

By not being.