Sin's Benison

It comes as something of surprise. We need the broken figurines. the malice we expressed, the heart forever bound in cords constricting its magnificence. It seems the pure, transcendant, holy orb that shines above the saints cannot be dealt with quite so well as grief and pain of loss, as ashes on our foreheads, or the sacrament of penitence. Chagirned though I may be to prize the fragments packed away in tissued boxes, just to call upon until the years thin out and memories themselves are jewels I am beguiled by them, and sifted through the fingers of my mind these worthless shards encased in dusty time at last surcease their cries for they are mine alone, and in this pageant of the years, I find that I need play no more the cumbrous role of God. ~