gifted

the gift
not the giver
is revered

the created
not the
Creator
is held up
high

o my

the gifted
creature
is hurled
from such heights
and spins
spiralling down
into deepening
darkness

sun-soaked stains
seep deep
from consciousness
to unconsciousness

sleeping so tightly
and sometimes
to dream
of heaven's
window

o where are you
in the day?

lost in the vast
universe
of the unmade
Maker

the uncreated
Creator
waits and watches
and weeps

that your sleep
may not be
the sleep
that is unto
death

Nicodemus goes public