Rapture

This place of rapture...
spoken of at twilight in silent whispers and sighs,
Is it heaven's touch, granted by the divine,
blessed by Godhead and heavenly cherubim,
or the bane of man, the heart's crucifixion?
It damns the saint,
who would confess all,
on bended knee at love's sweet altar,
all for but a touch,
begging mercy and feigning purity,
at the expense of substance and soul.
It baptizes sinner,
in tears of sweat,
bodies entwined and twisted...serpentine, in the great mystery,
in black of night,
speaking in tongues of madmen.
It exiles the lonely man,
in eternal damnation of self and solitude,
heart, broken and bleeding,
offered up to the wind for silent ears,
for none hear his weeping.
The kiss of Canaan,
this rhapsody incarnate.
The union of souls,
a lighting of fire, the electricity.
Fingertips with touch like fragrant Lilacs that dance upon water at sunrise,
sweet with the perfume of Summer.
©2010∞Copperhead