I Am Not and I Am Yours

No real judge of poetry, I am including these as they occurred primarily because they came-- and entirely of themselves-- during my devotionals. They seem a little Rumi-ish, which I wish I could take more credit for, but the inspirational always succumbs to the mold in which it is applied and those were the limits in which they found themselves. Better to be hollow, but I made no means for poetry, not being one. The phrase "I am not and I am Yours" would eventually become my zikr.

Broken if you would break me

Hollow as a reed of a flute

Stirred by your breath only
Breathe through me that I might be song.

If I would stand
You would make me.
If I would fall so be it too.
If you made the moon rise
I would love it
Love it because you made it move.

Stars burn forever
in light of your love.
Souls burn ignited too
because their fires
burn brightly my love
brightly forever for you.

I am Not
and I am Yours

What would you ask of me lover
What would you ask that I do
I have no will nor desire
That is not animated by you.
The Face that I face is faceless
Yet beautiful beyond all compare
Perhaps I might see myself there in the mirror
but I do not know who I am
I do not know who I am.

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What would you take from me love
That I would not give away?
What would you see here love
I have not since thrown away?

My pride is a fire--
guttering--
it is gone.
My name is a mark in the sand.
Watch the tide come sweep it away.

There is nothing left but this shell
this thing they might once called a man
And starlight and starbright
this love it burns too bright
and it burns away all that it can.

I would give away all that I am--
who would take ragged clothes such as these?
I would give away all that I have--
burn my house burn my things burn I am.

All this love would be mine
all this love all this time
what a waste I have spoken so late.
Now in this clockless time
I’m no longer alive
death is the lover’s fate.
And the beach is strewn
with all the things of my undoing
undone and thrown away.

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O my heart,
broken.
Break it. Break it again.
This poor heart—
a poor place for my love

Let it run free
like wine
from a dropped and broken glass—
cast off this heart,
this husk that would
restrain it.

O my heart,
my love it has no need for you.
It is wild in the night
it is wild
it is--

all there ever was,
all there ever has been:
too large to contain
and yet it is contained
at last
and consumed
at last
by the sea.