Filling regions mysterious

There are regions

mysterious

Sealed inside each soul.

Untouched

By fumbling fingers

Unseen

By prying eyes

They lie in our depths

like black holes.

There, we are all, all

Alone.

No need for an

Island

To be desolate,

Clinging desperately

To anything that assures,

Anything that promises, emptily,

From outside the gateless walls

Of our vacuum prisons

Promises to hold us

From the sucking hole inside

But

I know of one thing

That pierces through

through the walls

Thicker than stone

Like light immeasurable

It finds

our black holes

And fills them.

Yet all our little eyes can see

of this incredible power

 Is a piece of whiteness

A morsel of bread

Nothing spectacular

The Creator of the universe

Made Himself the best disguise

To come to us.

It was not enough

To come as a child, laid on a bed of straw

Not enough

To come as a simple worker, his strong hands guiding carpenter’s tools

Not enough

To come as a teacher, pouring light into gray lives

Not enough

To come healing, seeking out the broken, His feet aching with miles of love

Not even enough

To come as a sacrifice

Poured on a wooden altar

           Two

beams of wood set

          across        

           each

           other

Not enough

To pour out an emboldening fire

Strength and wisdom for the centuries

Even that

Was not enough for Him,

To reach into that cold little

Space

Hidden in the human heart

But

He stays with us forever.

A small piece of bread,

powerless

Yet the greatest force in this broken world

motionless

Yet moving in that deep, dark sea

Heaving at the dusty foundations

Till waves rise

Tsunamis

That make no sound

but the thud-thud

Of a heartbeat.

And that little host

That small disc of white,

the key filling the hole of the heart

Is what I

And every other island of a heart

Beating against its prison walls

Cold

Dark

Alone

Cannot live without