Reader…you have them all around you. You need to repent of your attitudes, that drive you to the other side of the street to pass by lest you be sullied, and join the good Samaritan who kneels beside the beaten and robbed and gives from his own purse to them for their care.
Your doctrine stinks…and your deeds are more barren than Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.
Constance…you who read here and get it…thank you for being here regularly, for knowing the pithy bloody heart that throbs in my chest. Please consider following Brother John’s blog…and even more, if you have funds to spare, consider contributing to him, as he would be able to devote himself full time to reaching out to these people he is so gifted to touch (I am one of them!!).
Ye possess a beauty innate
far surpassing my deepest efforts
and most twisted machinations,
for I have being in living flesh sensate,
I dwell in alchemical dirt miracle
While you, though made of stone
find shape and form that fits you fair
and curve that matches moons and stars
and softness that my soul sings of in air,
and sadness choked and stifled by me, dirt and stone.
you are carved, a statue, stuck and still
and yet are one, while I am severed in this chill,
never knowing unified connection
with myself and peace within the nill.
alas and not a lass, that’s me
and you? mere shackles hold you
that one day you can break or be delivered from
by some grave Odysseus or Hercules,
someone with the boldness to forgive you