Incarnate
life subsumes us in the dangerous –
the body
feels, reacts, discerns – soon learns
that nothing
doesn’t have a consequence
which isn’t deeply
steeped in sorrow. We borrow
what we can
from promises of hope, yet always
have again to
cope with matter – not the fleeting
spatter of the
spirit – of the soul we’re told
is what
created us, and made us whole.
It’s hard for flesh to keep this notion fresh..
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