The crucible of divine love


Squeaking floors and fuming minds

Bookcases lining the walls all around

the smell of old books and Augustine’s voice

“for the Father will be shown to us

and it will be enough”, I pause


The detailed carvings of the English gothic windows

face me with a question most dreaded after all,

in the meanders of my soul, have I been blinded,

have I let my flesh become prey of a worldly reality

losing sight of the eternal fullness of our joys


My fingers brush the desk made of elm

What if you were my mind’s construction,

my embodied desires gathered in a projection

would you be real or a mere mirage

built on the altar of false allegiance


The light brown binding of a codex

catches my attention for its legal emphasis,

as if following the rules led to being exempt

from torment and constraints,

while singing a lullaby to the desires of the heart


This library, a place where hearts and minds

have had to concur despite the doubts

and hesitations of generations,

partaking in this holy exchange,

the surrendering of one’s life desires


Just as Christ pursued our whole self on the cross:

the very crucible of divine love




Ecclesia
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