Father forgive us, for we haven't yet recovered from the last fall.
There is a point where Hope & Exhultation
converge to a cruelly fixed and sharp point-
only to find their meeting place upon
the gothic architecture of all existential Despair, Ambivalence & Anguish.
And then Evil entered into the world,
and Good became something to kill for-
the hands of neither Warrior nor Martyr coming clean.
Father, forgive us, for we haven't yet recovered from that fall.
We confesseth ye with our mouth and Yea! We are saved!
But must we endure every moment as though we were damned?
We wish to no longer bear the weight of this faltering-
the shock of this trembling.
Nihilo sanctum estne?
Where is our Soul?
Where has it gone?
We are open vessels.
We only pray that the wrong spirit does not enter into us.
Fighting it has come to naught.
Must we lie with the Devil to bear the seeds of our own redemption?
Which came into being first-Heaven or Hell?
Or is there only The Void,
still teeming with infinite possibilities?
