Pleroma

Feb 29, 2024
1 min read

I think now

(what then?)

that all I was then

The beauty and the peace

Were mirrorly dreams and shapes

from my own eye, I cast upon the deep

I feel this just as surely now

As I felt them true back then

And curse my traitor heart

so fickle in the end

Is it truer to admit the rain? To face up to the light?

Than hold to all I knew could be

between the dawn and night?

Both sacrifice and butcher with no voice of God to stay

My hand held out unsteady

on the knife edge of the day

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