Temple

Would I  defile a temple,
And leave its courtyard
Dirty and stained?
This body
Is my Lord’s Temple,
My mind, His courtyard.
Why then do I ill-treat
This holy Temple?
Gusts of anger bring in
Dirt and stinking refuse.
Passion’s gale winds
Sweep through,
Spraying garbage throughout.
But they come in wearing
The crown of moral rectitude or
The colorful robes of pleasure.
Absorbed in their false glows
I lose all my judgement.
Yet there are times
when my Lord,
Seated in His chambers,
Commands the inner doors
To open just a wee bit.
In that Divine moment,
I see my soul in Him
And the temple-
Cleansed,
Glows with love infinite.
Then my eyes are fixed
On the inner doors
Hoping that one day
They will open wide
And stay open forever,
That this Temple of my Lord,
Can never be stained or abused.
But then,
The gusts and gale winds
Come back again…