You are transformed by scholastic theology,
You fall when you think you have leapt.
Your bliss is obscured by unseen blight;
disease brought by squandered obsession on your pretty reflection.
You've learned well at turning off and tuning in,
but your possessive gaze has tuned out Charity and Hope.
A smile greets all that you're comfortable with,
but mind of the passion lies outside your zone.
Trespassing by stairs fashioned of Needy and Unrest
you vacation in ivory towers amongst the knowing,
worshiping at the feet of lock-step thinking.
You treat ignorance with disregard and
overlook the lesson of the blessings of works.
It is love of Charity I speak;
I speak not of alms, but a mind cleared of destitute judgement;
one which cleaves to forgiveness for those who've wronged.
Charity the most precious of virtues, so heavy
it fell to earth for heaven could not hold it there;
born of perfection, chaste as a child weeping at mothers final prayer.
It is easy forgiving loved ones, yet accountable labor
for the cheat, the thief, the liar and layer.
It culminates in endless effort and not upon one chance;
seven times seventy completes a modicum of progression.
The answer lies not with the priest, the shaman or rebbe.
It breaths quietly amongst the Holy of your ghost;
cryptic message pressing for release.
Purge the world to see it was earthly din that murdered the Divine.
Inward looking bemoans the petty and limits power.
It is useless, for the self is too small for perpetual interest.
As you seek treasures . . . the tangible never satisfies,
For you can never get enough of what you never truly desired.
Charity satisfies. It wanes and is sought time and again,
As a prayer from the living to the consumed of temporal-abyss.
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