The World
collapsed at my undressed
feet
Colonised by saints and monsters She scheduled
I meet, distressed
I am not a shepherd, far from Heaven,
I confessed, and yet Unrelaxed

is my heart, blessed. Esthetical stints weakening
with every year that pass,
as Judgement Day at the celestial auction
keeps our resonator meek and re-dresses
my feet, at which the weight of
The World seems to rest

her delicate head
Unlike mine; opaque. And yet so graciously
Her stillness pulls my cancerous head
to my idle heart, and patiently
The World brings me to my feet, granting us permission to admire and ache.