to the pure

what reasons are for the holding of
a virtue in ones fist
one grasp gentle, the other fierce
squeezing to bring drops that run
from heaven to lips...
the world hates this–
beyond my eyes and sometimes frightens
when it I also find in dearly beloveds’ heart,
but that I might know the mind of Christ
I cry, reach out for this realer part
praying friendship with its healing art.
let it cleanse my soul from fallacious game
that takes prisoners for others or selfish gain,
for when virtue reigns from palm to sight
in spite of blindness, death - there opens wide
a narrow gate underneath
world’s brazen face, boisterous barren tease,
where dew collects on fairies’ backs --
and joy blooms truth fruit ‘bout our heads
where trees of fields clap golden hands
and angels of God gather to crown
humble heroes with loving glances.
still there comes due time
for virtue’s flower to fade, like all flesh,
deemed worthless beauty, pass away,
on earth she'll gain no accolade.
and death it seemed only ever tasting
fool's paradox - and God's - embracing
to know love everlasting.