May 21, 2012
Trade my shame, O Lord, for a jagged stone;
For will I die of starvation before I again eat rotten fruit.
To hell with my fathers and their barbarous deeds;
Their fumblings through the desert, their short-sighted voracity.
Their thick, stubby hands are not my hands,
I do not share their desires, their beliefs, or their fate.
I am but a fertile seed fell from the tree of life.
Burry me so deep Lord, that my mind surrenders, my senses fail,
and I am pure once again.