Saturday, June 20, 2009


Of the secrets I own, I've given them all.
To trust and to hope.

All but two.

The first is merely an issue of shame, and one could argue an issue of pride as well.
Pride is the root of all sin.

The second is an issue of understanding. Mine and yours.
To even begin explanation, shame, pride, and sin all enter the picture.

I have known what I should not, and not by my hand.
I have done what I should not, and it is by my hand that the second is an issue at all.

I have known the ecstasy of heaven.
I would be lieing if I said that this were an only child.

Sin gives birth to death.

So, though I am constantly drawn to the Throneroom, I find that there are skeletons in my closet that do not know the difference between what is wrong and what is wonderful.

This association drives me mad. I reject the majestic because it breathes a hint of similarity to what I've learned to hate.
Flaw in all this is, in the end, in the right house, this skeleton belongs in every way.

Oh, bones, bones, bones! Why haunt me?
Take a piano wire to my soul. Slice between these things I know.
One day, I'll understand.
If that comes when wonderful and wonderful-afraid collide, then so be it.

The bones be rusty, the closet old,
and I should sell a secret told
To skeletons and pride and sin
Should I associate again.

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