What is the flaw of men?
Better yet, what is my flaw?
That Heavens would use me, then
despise me?
For the very despicable quality they sought me for!
Humanness! If it was negotiable,
to escape this mold:
be rid of the treachery branded in my bones,
for death not be bestowed,
who'd turn their head so —
alas, with all its glorious inevitability,
my incorrigible humanity!
For all my dishonor,
Heaven's have no choice but bow its head to look down;
for there is no creature more flawed than I,
and yet, no vessel which have come closer to God than this accursed child —
who could love with all its broken pieces, somehow!
Is that my flaw?
To grip Divinity with these undeserving hands;
To hold Infinity within these morbid ribcages —
I flaunt my world of Horrors,
yet helplessly in my knees, I acquire love:
which is no less than any Divine but God!
The flaw of men, may be,
come Hell or high water we —
even burn in Heaven's fire for —
love to our very core.