My Beloved no longer recognizes me,

an angel in disguise; The darkness can’t see.

I am the grief of Him who sent me…

The lamentation of him who was crucified

for you.

So that you may learn to love.

My ceramic pot had cracked and was long gone.

My seeds scattered and I sang my exotic song.

The garbage heap became a Garden of Eden,

my fragrance and exotic life now had its freedom!

Home at last amongst my true loves,

who cuddled me with closeness in the warm tropic sun.

I wondered how my seeds ever survived

the north wind and the merchant –

who never even noticed I died.

I arrange my fragrant spices for you

each for its own purpose.

Cardamom, cinnamon, and a touch of clove,

each in perfect measure, just to please my Love.

Beloved, see that no man takes your crown,

or my life has been taken in vain.

I’m here to persevere and bear the cross with you,

in Jesus Christ’s name, there is no shame,

Your spiritual love is so strong and few comprehend

The perfect love that binds us has no beginning and no end.

The alpha and omega my beloved, my sweet,

Remember always to wash one another’s feet.

Our heartfelt sufferings of this present time and age

are not worthy to be compared with the glory

which shall be revealed in us.

By Eve Lorgen He or is it she, wearing a mask? Depicting an era lost, long into the past. Smiling pleasantly, awaiting

Creating a soul’s dependence, rather than being a true teacher,

doesn’t make that soul self sufficient, no matter how sympathetic a preacher.

The need to be needed may only be a mask

disguising the desire to be recognized for seemingly sympathetic holy tasks.

All wisdom starts from a central core.

First, at home with a loving family.

It has always been; and always will be. Forevermore.

It was me on that tearful eve,

as you peered out your window

in utter turmoil and grief.

I showed you a light in the sky,

as a symbol of your destiny,

because you asked me why.