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.
~
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