The Ballroom of the Beloved
Dust as servant and squire.
Invocation
I will attempt to scribe a poem so solemnly sublime
as to inspire awe in reader and writer alike.
Enter now, Beloved — she motions expansively,
bowing as is custom at the waist, vested coattails fanning,
hand over cream-ruffled, gold-embroidered heart,
a rose tattooed on her hand, short gray hair falling forward in reverent bow.
We notice the ballroom first —
the high domed ceiling alive with candles,
angels holding hands, wings outstretched in worship,
against a field of deep cerulean blue.
Crown molding gleams in gilded glory,
cream walls lined with crystal sconces,
chandeliers glittering like frozen hallelujahs.
Then Dust — before us — dressed as servant and squire,
her trademark rose-hand and strong frame resplendent,
clothed in burgundy velvet suit and cream silken blouse,
fit at forty-five, ageless in His service,
beckoning by calling us Beloved.
The carpets: deep red, patterned like geometric psalms.
Soft shadows pool between torchlight and candle glow.
And then — the music — ancient and familiar all at once.
The dancers appear, spinning arm in arm across the parquet floor.
Upon a raised stage, the orchestra plays —
their sound so transcendent it borders worship.
The violins weep for ages of lives long gone,
the cellos mourn in rich farewell for the dearly departed.
The dancers move with such beauty,
no matter the timbre or tune.
Joy itself becomes worship — longing and unity intertwined.
They have no restraint — explosive in form, sacrificial in function.
“What is this place?” we ask, tugging Dust’s rose-marked hand.
She turns, shock softening into tenderness.
“Why, this is the celebration,” she says.
“The martyrs have gathered rejoicing —
for in Heaven, a song has been heard.
He comes soon — with the shout of an archangel,
and the trumpet will sound throughout the world.”
“Are we dead?” we ask, hesitant, unsure we wish to know.
Her eyes crinkle in compassion; she shakes her head slowly.
“No, not dead,” she whispers. “This is a vision
a dream within a dream, given that you might light the lamps,
and be ready when called.”
Amen Lord Yeshua, Come
Dust,