34.5 - An Interim: A Lament

I am a sick man, a spiteful man,
Whose life has been a life of shame.
It may have been fortunate for my eyes
That in the dark, so long were my sins.
But woe to me, and for all seeking God!
My whole self is in the light,
And now I’ve realized,
I’ve been blind this whole time.
For all that I’ve done, I deserve no life.
In fact, for those with discerning eyes,
One may figure that I’ve taken many lives
(Though to this no synagogue of evil tells.
They’ll tell you to have compassion for bugs
Whilst celebrating the death of your own cells).

But what does it matter, for so long as I can die?
Suffer life long enough, and by the Word,
Those on high will tell you God will be by your side.
So say you live a life of lament. You win.
So say you live a life of joy. You win.
What’s the matter? God loves all people,
And there are those loved by God and all
And those loved by none at all, save for God.
Perhaps The Reader may posit a guess,
As to which lot I consider myself a part of.

Guess taken? Well either way it doesn’t matter.
Too much of my soul has been thrown in the light.
They don’t see it, no probably not,
Not with their joyful and happy songs.
These verses are getting too long, and the meter’s off.
Ah well, what does it matter.
As they say, one can’t always play to the gallery,
And perhaps this work deserves a particular interim
Written in a style of tradition almost forgotten.

So, as I was saying, joyful and happy songs.
It hurts for me to see, they deserve those things.
Oh yes, for sure, some were born beautiful,
Some were born with money, with good homes,
With… good moral upbringings I’ve never had.
Kyrie Eleison.

God, God.
Why do I give them a vessel to express themselves?
Forgive me Father, help me please.
Let me express myself, and let your Spirit speak.
In brevity, pray I speak as the godly.
I have an idea as to what I’ll pray.
Pray Father, this idea is yours.

Oh forgive me Father, for my sins.
How many times have I sinned?
How many times have I been deaf to your screams?
Each time you’re nailed across, each time you bleed.
But what worth are these words?
I only want to be saved,
So I’ll crucify you as many times as it takes.
And why would you volunteer for this task,
To save, again and again, a worthless one like me
Of which, if knowing the full body of my soul,
Not one would love.
So why God, I speak to the God who loves everyone,
Why should I weep knowing that you love me,
When I should be loved by no one save for thee?

Oh Father, I confess, I hate how I am.
I am a jealous, envious, and spiteful man,
I say ‘There are those loved by the world and God.
How come I’m only loved by God!’
Perhaps Hell whispers in my ear,
That their good wishes, their prayers;
Abel has his portion, but he prattles on
With an endless list of moral platitudes,
And to what end? To keep me below,
To keep me from sending them harm?
Kyrie Eleison.

What folly do I allow to be expressed?
I have no body fit for war.
Abel shall keep his portion,
Even if I were to become a bandit,
Lord, how grateful I am that you would protect him.