Words of The Lamb

In my sickness
I write the order
of my forlorn consolation
and seek forgiveness for
the suffering I’ve caused.

Our lives are led
at the expense of
all other living
things we carry
the burden of the
universe with every
breath I hold the sacrament
like water suspended atop
the mountain of my ambitions
and beg that the weary may be
sustained through their toil
as I have been sustained by
grace.

When the last day
falls from heaven
I hope to claim no
certainty and be no
less awed at the mere
fact of existence in all
its obscene beauty.

By the truth
of my truth,
I beg for peace.

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