Smouldering Wick

I love you, my friend, cracks and all, but still

I cannot love the sin that saps your soul.

I hate it with a perfect hate. My will

Engages in the hate, the selfsame goal

That drives my love, drives that hate. The whole

Of my being loves you, for Love must fill

My entire being. We cannot mete and dole

His essence out in coffee spoons. We kill

Love’s fierce vitality, enslaved by shame’s control.

Blind fool that I am, ignoring the bruised reeds,

If I drive my righteous rota-tiller across your soul,

How will I not exterminate what I most love?

Even angelic wisdom cannot take the weeds

Without destroying the wheat, ‘til the final roll

Is called, and all is sorted out above.