This marvelous deception
Each moment of this realm drenched
in sweet, sorrowful parting;
this tangled web (You say) woven
by our own inherent duplicity.
I know what I need to do (according to You).
I haven't the courage, faith or desire.
I opt for the occasional and inevitable
sting of serving two masters,
savoring the free range between houses,
the seductive illusion beyond each gate -
the illusion of not being a slave.
There exists an intoxicating glamour
where flesh meets dust;
where flesh meets dust,
though tainted and tinged with sorrow,
we panic, grasp and cling,
in the impetuous moment, seemingly,
to the only chance we might ever have for heaven.
O child of God, weep for this marvelous deception.
Here is the place for tears.