In that the wandering was aimless
pain though quite painful was
painless in comparison to what had gone
before me
and after came more pain but by then
I was used to the injury that history
had bestowed upon me,

gifted though none too bright,
taught how and what to write
by the Pharisee,
was God ever good to me?

A desert came
more pain
visions in the freezing night,

and in all the wandering, the
******* and squandering of my
youthful days,
finally to fitfully gaze upon the
one

and the stars shone on
and the light appeared


what we fear the most
is not fear
but the fear of fearing

who fears the tearing of their skin
when the pustules burst
is that not relief you feel?

the postulant turn to a burning cross
with a fire in her eyes that cry for the loss
of a saviour she knows from the book.