Allelulia

Here you are, drifting between despair
and delight. Sometimes a tree is just a tree.
But sometimes the trees and the birds,
they sing so still, it spills over, and everywhere,
and how could they not, I suppose.
Sometimes you find yourself falling,
and afraid; of losing that very self (definition)
that you hold most tightly of all. Sometimes
it takes a smile and a short-haired seductress
sent to you to send you home. And sometimes you hear
a harsh voice from beyond–why do this to yourself,
and again?–it reaches out to betray your love
and hold you as you hurt, yet hurting you more
all the same. And in that confusion, you push
her away, thinking that this somehow might
take her further from you. Sometimes
you know you've given all of yourself, much more
than was fair to have been asked for, and yet the
questions come anyway, asking you to live them.
But whatever you had to lose was never really
yours to hold in the first place. And some doors
exist never to be opened, only always to invite you
onwards, crying only alleluia as they do so.