When the magic dies and the fruit skin dries and curls;
When one face looks like another, and you stop calling your lover;
When you look for answers but your lips can’t voice the questions;
And the one you loved leaves you to fight yourself without Her;
And you wander in the desert of temptation not noticing the pleasures;
And numbness covers you in a sackcloth made from the ashes of dead dreams;
When the despair of drowning Sailors finds you, like Moses,
gazing at the promised land you cannot enter,
Then you find you want to believe, to reclaim the magic that let you wake each day reborn, remade, renewed and not looking past your toes;
When your greatest joy was stamping through puddles left behind by the rain.
Then the One you loved returns on the river that flows with milk and honey,
and from a basket of reed She carries you away from bondage;
But you’re not ready to bathe in the grace of Her love, and despair is still
your best friend;
Then She calls you again to tempt you with the wishes of your youth;
But the face in the mirror denies Her and you turn away as if caught
peeking through the key hole at the naked woman behind the door;
And you wander again in that desolate place, that safe harbor between faith and doubt.
Still, you find you want to believe, to reclaim the magic that let you
wake each day reborn, remade, renewed and not looking past your toes;
When your greatest joy was sitting with Cindy Combs on the swings at the playground.
Once more She returns and looks down from the place where you nailed Her,
and looks hard at your face and asks why you denied Her three times;
But you turn away and give Her your shoulder and you tell them you don’t know Her;
And She’s battered by your indifference, and She’s bruised, and She’s pierced and Her body shredded by the pain She bears for you;
Still She sheds a tear for you and the love you denied Her;
And when Her tears run dry She is finished and forsaken and shuts Her eyes
and leaves you to your mirror and the despair you carry around like a first-class ticket for nowhere.
Still, you find you want to believe, to reclaim the magic that let you wake each day reborn, remade, renewed and not looking past your toes;
When your greatest joy was walking with Eve in the garden of desire.