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I spurned the gospel which, once spurned, you swore,
and now am I your stranger, fall'n from grace,
who once familiar held your distant face,
who finds himself in kind unbidden war.

You ever come to me in peace, assure
safe passage, having found your proper pace
which is not mine. You grow to whence I race
homewards. You find your feet; I lose the floor.

How hearken then your homilies? though true,
they try me dry, they mind me I am left
sans warmth or strength or your respect, or run.

Here was there ruin. Here was I drained through,
all since leaked out; here my desire cleft.
Nothing remains to truce with. It is done.


Nick Nicholas, opoudjis [AT] optusnet . com . au
Created: 2001-4-24; Last revision: 2001-4-24