God, I hate my hate,
And ask, why now you have given me your gift?
When I strove,
In spite of you,
To live as you asked my brothers,
Those who swore they heard your church bells,
In the gallows of their sunken souls,
But I could see their deafness in the pantomimes,
Laughing at the infighting,
Over whose game of telephone could be called gospel,
Even as that infighting caught up an outsider like myself.
Now, though, oh Lord,
You have forsaken me with your gift,
A Holy Fire that burns through my chest,
Breaking the seal between our worlds:
My dispassion tainted by your righteousness.
We’ve returned, you and I,
To the wasteland of my youth,
(A favorite motif of yours)
Beset on all sides by your fervent blaze.
This time, though,
I offer up an earnest prayer:
And cast me out once again,
Deliver me, O Lord,