to assume the wine i gave last night,
bought of pain and anguish, doubt and fear,
is My sacrament, my holy death.
Our love, or at least the seeming form,
to tether thoughts, before souls torn
from bindings tough, imprisoned there
by past, by when we last did dare
to free the beast from silken cage.
My love for you IS my pilgrimage.
Once again, i free the one,
from bars of dissapointment and hurt,
to hope again, till it is done,
and slinks back to its blightened home.
or, finding like in likes eye....
lives its life out, free to roam.
You take in this my holy flesh.
my meal i cook in bated breath
to sacrifice myself to sin
given to my little death
given to the mood im in,
seeming illusion, wearing thin.
All i seek of you in return,
is that noone has given before....
i seek the eye that shows no flaw.
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Submission Name: my love for you
