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2011, January 21

An empty vessel the feeling is,
as if all has left, even You.
Still, how can I believe that is even possible?
As that would violate what You exactly are.

Inside, a void, evacuated.
Echoes of where are You, why have You and how could You…
And the pain, likens the polishing of rust,
How else, can the death of the undone be complete?

Clinging only onto You, O’Lord, scrub a little harder!
It is my free will that I have asked for this!
To die once more in the bath of Your Light,
to die a zillion deaths if that is what it takes.

O’ Lord, go ahead and brush me some more!
Purify what is not for what is to be born!
Only in You, the truth be reign;
awaiting at your feet, Thy will be done.

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