It matters not what we wear
Or, if we smell of perfumed flesh
It is the LOVE of which we carry
Which speaks of us at best

We may possess the finest clothes
And bathe in bubbling baths sublime
But underneath this wrinkling robe
Lies the Soul whose essence chimes:

I wait upon you all your life,
To choose the path which is pure.
But, YOU insist upon the strife
Embracing that which can't be cured!

And while I wait you stumble on
Oblivious to what I would share
Amongst the grieving, ghastly throng		
Who will not love, who will not bare

All - I was created for
All - that I am yet to be
All - that lies beyond the door
All - which they refuse to see.

It matters not what we contrive
The painful games we hope to win
Our Souls seek Love within our lives
Anything less is but a Sin.