Cleaved in half, my soul in battle
One half in darkness, in misted night
The other half in weak faery light
Towards my integrity will rattle
This civil warring essential fight
And who wins? Will dust settle?
May I lose, may I win, is goal
Grace leaks out like from a cracked bowl
And unlike the tin man, I have no mettle
No ambition towards building the whole
Yet loved I am, by the man crossed and broken
This shocks me more than Mjolnir of old
And freezes with fear more than Antarctic cold
For I burn with every word He has spoken
Purged into a unified, beautiful mold
God bless,
>P<
Joshua Fahey
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