False Love

You tear my heart from could be love

Where fill of time is not enough,

Where tenses smother and senses shove

My soul to being pure.

Wherein I walk the garden of joyful reverie

And what is not the who I am extends itself to see

The ecstasy of wonder,

Enchantment’s holy hand

That what is less eternal quest

Find mortal reprimand

From purposes anointed,

The Christ within our midst

Where Judases still come and go

When duty lands its kiss.

2012.01.08.0100 ©

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