P. Walsh |
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| Although you pull me and call my name, although I have listened and in listening found a comfortably agonizing place; Although I have hid in your demonic, mechanical bosom, and raged and sorrowed against your murderous ways, although there is truth in my rage, truth in my sorrow, I have allowed you to drain me, consume, leave me empty. And I've awoken in horror as if from an idiot's dream to find my love away. I turn from you now to face and embrace my heart. I turn to look inward and though you call me I will not hear. And though you fill my eyes I will not see. I turn and turn to embrace the hand of God forever awaiting embracing. I turn to enter the eye of God forever awaiting vision. I turn to eternity and I banish you from my eyes. I turn at last, at last, to face myself, to face, at last, my soul. |
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