Frankly, I expected God to be
more efficient and avoid this savored
burning. I guess He likes it. I could see
some other kind of pain – still labored
and indelicate, with a late
lesson, all as taut as penance. But
I stand chronic, bend to supplicate,
and hold the momentary dissolute.
Where’s salvation? How do I accede
when my redemption takes parieties?
Limits disannoint the body. I plead
recrimination, an innocence that frees
Him, whose expanse grows down to me
to make my punishment infinity.
*
~Wm Frawley (posted by A. DiMichele)
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