28 January 2020

Postcard 184


I must love this man,
who's every bent was born of hammer's blow
But must I?

I must love this man
where man is a cracked, chipped and shattered shell
mended poorly with ego and will
But must I?

I must love this man
who's peering underneath is not man but crippled being
But must I love this man?
I must

Must I love this man
who's twin is a ghost, ever tugging at his sleeve?
I must

Must I love this being
who's center is collapse
who sets pillars in sluice sand
who's edifice is gilded crumble?
I must

But must I?

I must love this man
who death-sat his own hateful provenance
who is wrapped in every twisted father's coil?

But must I?
I must love this man
who through mad power resonates

I must love this being
who must collapse or be brought down
But must I?

Yes. This being, labelled poorly, man
who's redemption is likely death, must be met with love
This man who's angry works may be neither healed nor undone

I must love this man
iron orange where blood should be
-- same flesh as me
same but magnified

I must.

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