Pathos

Oh Father, ancient one without us all
That I might feel thy hand upon this cheek
thy palm upon my breast, thy lips
upon this downcast and heavy brow.

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Oh child, my formless progeny
swept wide within the sands of time
may you this day and each erelong
know it is with my hand and word
that I caress you with a passing moment.

It is in the wind that graces your cheek
the rhythm that beats from thy breast
and the lips of your beloved and betrothed.
All which extend my reach to you
within the confines of perception there entombed.

You are beloved above all
and to each child may they find
some measure of worth.
For all that you perceive without
is all that moves from within to greet me
there awaiting your recognition,
your contemplation; our ecstasy.