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.
