His Alone

I have found myself more inclined to follow his will

Than dreams or status quo.

For though I may not discerably comprehend at first,

In the end, nothing gives me more joy

than his delight.

I have come to love him, even in his silence.

His sweet surrender has strewn my heart asunder

In search of a word that would direct his gaze at me,

A word, even a cross one,

plunges my heart to the depths of the pit of love

I have dug myself into;

A flower willing to be plucked by his hands alone.

Oh what torment is this,

That I would plunge this thorn deep into my flesh,

To be one with him in his cross to be borne-

His tears heavily stained with

my own blood.

What bliss is this,

That his gaze would pull my body

to a standstill.

I wait, with bated breath,

for his whisper, for him to call me

His beloved, his alone.



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