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
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