The miracle of man

When you call mine Father Devine
Although I seem fine in my repeated rhyme
I have written this emblem trodding the trip
Where the horses still run and the people dip

Call mine Father Devine that I might drip
with your golden enscription
In the situe of beauty taunting my inner eye
As every ancestor forgets my recoiled mission

Call mine Father Devine to talk about the faithfull and the loved I can no longer watch
As I look down with boredom and terror of my worn down gloves

Call mine Father Devine for my sweetest fulfillment in that moment of fine time
Where you thread my laughter of my inner child, settled and free from whatever might become of these crimes

Call mine Father Devine when you tire of the stars that never break glimpse
And the angels are busy going within
And I fake once more your coldest grin to every thought you thought to win

Call mine Father Devine when the miracles of man have dried and caught
And the flames from the ashes on someone else's shrine tell you to remember you are still devine

Call mine Father Devine
I will not worship if you tell me not
And let the lovers finish and the horses seice their trot
That you might tell me this equal poem and all it wrought to man
So their simple existence could withstand them