Theophania and the flesh failures seek the sun
I wanna follow you into your room,
but can't turn off the holy.
I had enough of your dark doom,
now just accept the whole me.
You liked to play catch, hide and seek
looked from behind the cupboards,
You asked me: "Are you wild or meek?
Do you fuck down-or upwards?"
I told you all about my soul
but you refused to answer,
Now you are twisted, I am whole,
your walls are sick of cancer.
I gave it all, you still want more,
It's something never seen:
Broke suitor, and free-of-charge-whore
as Christ and Magdalene.
Theophania and the flesh failures find the sun
We never were, we always are,
you treat me like a stranger,
A game became a civil war,
a man some kind of danger.
Remember times when we were young,
we both had fiery hair,
were outsiders and against the throng
and met at scarborough fair.
But I found Christ within the pit,
and not "Here comes the sun",
but that came afterwards to me
and hippie times begun.
I'm sure, you found the spirit, too,
for you are still alive.
Don't tear apart the dress you sew,
come here and be my wife.
The sun comes, when you let it in,
words fit,if you don't judge,
names call the ones, who live within
and keep away the grudge.
© by Patrick Rabe, 30. August 2019, Hamburg.
In Fact, this is more a poem about faith, than about marriage and relationship, but this category is missing here.
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