this permanence frightens me.
so rarely am i graced,
by a tablet written in stone.
down from sinai i appear to have came,
and in my travels so much comes and passes.
this is the revelation i’m to hold evermore?
the word seems so meaningless,
and yet it is what i am afflicted with?
its words seem etched in the stone of my skin.
my skin, my soul, usually so apathetic,
was pierced like christ’s.
love etched now upon it by the spear of longinus.
lord, i did not ask for this!
why have i been blessed?
your word, it burns me to read aloud, to enact.
yet, shall i grasp onto it?
for there is a secret joy; often do i carve words into myself,
yet they vanish - the aspect of my own logos is on sand.
the grace of this stone tablet is within me now.
burning at my fingers, it fills me with terrible joy.
i weep; this joyfear is mine in aeternum?
this permanence frightens me,
as does this repetition.
but lacking either has cursed me long enough.