Queen of the Temple and the Forty Thieves

Queen of the Temple and the Forty Thieves

 

Sacred is this silence and this chant,

for this closure that is only here and now,

or so it gives. 

Stolen is your story and my past, 

forgive me, no one could show me the way, 

or how to understand and hold back, 

unseen, those frozen tears, 

half-forgotten years,  and everything humble, 

grand or in between.

Forgive me as I never saw you like this before, 

in so much peace, and you can’t. 

Forty thieves have come by, 

stumbled then stowed,

all that I have ever had, and lost.

All that there is to have and lose, 

in freed and tired images, barren and scant.