Reaching for the intangible
you seek Him when you wake,
closed off to what you know is genuine,
open to your hate.
Veiled in secrets that condemn
a mantilla made of lace,
what was once used as great respect
is now your hiding place.
What tree would bleed for fruit consumed?
What throne would vanquish fate?
When rocks are thrown, to each his own
it's easy to adjudicate.
Reaching for the intangible,
you seek Him when you wake.
What veils concealed is now revealed;
only He will know your fate.
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