Love
wants to reach out and manhandle us, Break all our teacup talk of God. If
you had the courage and Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights, He
would just drag you around the room By your hair, Ripping from your grip
all those toys in the world That bring you no joy. Love sometimes gets
tired of speaking sweetly And wants to rip to shreds All your erroneous
notions of truth That make you fight within yourself, dear one, And with
others, Causing the world to weep On too many fine days. God wants
to manhandle us, Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself And practice
His dropkick. The Beloved sometimes wants To do us a great favor: Hold
us upside down And shake all the nonsense out. But when we hear He is
in such a "playful drunken mood" Most everyone I know Quickly packs their
bags and hightails it Out of town. |