The Origin of Suffering
For now I cleanse my heart with tears
That Good and Evil fruits impart
Through Knowledge culled from human years,
The trees from which all sufferings start.
As God within me wakes my heart,
My heart awakens inside God;
A spark in infinite dark his art
Shall draw like lightning to the rod.
And burning human pride’s facade,
I’ll sear and singe, a martyred saint;
And with the martyr’s fervor, prod
And press until I’m sacrosanct;
In fearful furnaces distraint,
My soul will smolder as it nears
The white of lightning; and I’ll faint,
Saved only then by God’s own tears.