Be sure of this; our Wonder will not cease.
Our life may see decay and god knows what…
The broth of our fellowship may thin within the flat center of our bowl.
The wine of our interests may sour inside the precious metal of our chalice.
The meat of our devotion may spoil in the open air of our great hall.
You will assault me in my chamber, but I will hold.
You will raise siege towers against me, but I will hold.
You will infiltrate my defenses, but I will hold.
You will defile my body and spirit, but…I will hold.
I will not be afraid to teach the language of compassion, though it has become a forgotten tongue.
I will not be afraid to see ugly meanings in beautiful things, if it means that beauty will then be seen by eyes of opposition.
I will not be afraid to prick and pull at the scabs we have developed over time, if by doing so we allow the truth to flow over scars of memory.
I will not be afraid to speak those blessed blasphemies that conjure up the devil’s wet intent, if those hell-bent on saving souls are for a moment frozen in their intellect.
You will comfort me with lies, but I will hold.
You will lower my eyes to your bosom, but I will hold.
You will inflate me, as is your offense, but I will hold.
You will revel in my broken bones and afflicted soul, but…I will hold.
The bread of our acknowledgement may go stale atop our cluttered plates.
The crumbs of our agreement will be tossed about and out our hungry mouths.
The dogs of our indifference will be satisfied beneath the feast of our table.
Our love may be betrayed or blemished, but…
Be sure of this; our Wonder will not cease.
