10 Mar Dread Aspect

When one goes searching for God,
Rare is it expected to find something
Ferocious, fatal, vengeful.

Lanterns hung on each ocean star,
Domain of the Singular, the Terror,
Drawing all things out from afar
High-hung, those lanterns are
Shaking with its bodiless bearer.

The horror, O dread thought,
White Whale, Beast, what are you?
Under your belly sink men, all got,
Who many a year so cleverly sought
And when they arrived where was due

Came the epiphany and sunken eye
Pit in the gut which dries the throat
They found You, found You, aye —
But now what to do! but perhaps die!
For a ship can cross the worldly moat

Seeking its depths or along the waves
The Almighty, on its very own terms
But what arms could match what each craves?
For he seeks the Abyss, Fountain of Graves
Of fire unquenching, of undying worms

Faced with the precious Imago Dei
His attention a dagger in this hour
And man cannot plumb, trying maybe,
To conquer Him, whatever do may he,
No power overpowers Power.

High-hung, those lanterns are
Which guide your charts to Me
Who wisely stay from Me afar
I shan’t be slain but I should scar
By every soul to perish in My sea.

When one goes searching for God,
He has by then already found you.