Wednesday, 8 July 2020

Romans 7 : but I am carnal

Strands of history, a thin web of thine own,
Fornication be, an unpleasant throne,
One can take account of a mouse in scuffle,
within a vast hall, ye! the truth ere shame
Contradict none, yet the same
To wear a jewel, a coat of thy blame
Heathen without blessing,
Be the blessed host, angel with fear
Tinder burn the frame, a coat of tear’
Wondrous joyful essence, a tragic chance
Away to the flames for thy eternal dance.
Death seems pleasant, a moment of bliss
So easily tamed to that final kiss
The devil gratuitously, give ye a hand
 Gods wanton child, to another land.

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