Epistle Xxxi - Sculpting Saints

(I) When I traversed heresy’s lonely road, You stood watching the mystic moon, an uneven crescent emitting fa able radiance that pierced my palpitating pupils, as I fumbled to decrypt the incandescent fire light years afar (II) And then, you materialized in our mist, nourishing us with Your word, pardoning the leperous misfits, your hands sculpted saints from disfigured tar blocks of brutish barbarity, hammering away at our iniquity with each resounding strike