Each Day Again

A poem

Each day a day of vanity,
The sun will never rise on something new.
Each day a day increasing some insanity;
Sin-wrought sunrise teasing glory void of follow through.

And yet with every twisting of this tired earth,
In each endeavor ever destined for mere pain
I laugh—for in this weariness I’ve found the worth:
Each day a day in which to love you once again.

See, if you tore my heart to tiny pieces;
Dashed a dream on broken vows
You’d learn my love is not the sort that ceases,
As only immortality allows.

And if the endless chords of my devotion
Could squeezing fit in words of proper sway,
I’d outsing the rocking of the ocean
If this feeble voice would only stay.

Supposing all my love was caught in hand
And hurled into an empty, dried up sea,
Those waves would overflow their border-sand
And billows of the deep come rolling over me.

What you don’t seem to understand, my dear,
Is only when the setting sun is sinking east—
That's the day that my affection’s gone from here,
Not till then could it be said “today I loved you least.”

If you could only comprehend the reason
I maintain this monumental claim:
I'd gladly die for you again each season.
Make me Prometheus—I'd love you just the same.

Because my peace was once in tiny pieces
When shards of me were strewn across the floor.
Then found me: a Love that’s not the sort that ceases,
A love so strong I say "I ne’er knew love before."

I give you paltry broken bits of what He gave me first:
For by His pierced and mutilated body then,
Healed me as I spit on Him and cursed,
To love you more each day again.