Friday, 29 January 2016



Doubting Thomas was I, and saying, “Tell him off, tell him off,” 
Within me, “tell him to fuck-off,” saying, “tell the unwearying Stanley,”
Who pesters you with his sweet nothings;
I said to myself, “Head, discern and think, heart’s weak,
Love is an emotion I don’t want now
Even if God willed for my redemption from myself.”

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Love Divine, which from itself doth spurn all joy,
The more I willed you away, the more you came close
And I embraced you, felt your heart melt with mine
And our bodies melded transcendentally.

Fix now thine eye deep into the abyss 
Of the eternal love, to my eye
As deep as we might get high!
Me in my doubtings I had no power 
To stop it, not having power to think 
When you laid thine hands on me.
Therefore it Love behoved in myriad ways 
My heart to restore unto loving former self, 
Love Divine, that doth conquer my soul, 
And all its ways to lift me up again.

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