By John Hargraves.
In His crucible
Fires the glaze
Of empathy
Evil’s purpose
One’s cup
Filled first
And sipped
Unwillingly
His cross
Beckons
Renders
Agape
Hell’s forge
Processes
Our pain to
Sublimation
For the light
Penetrates
More easily
In the dark
John:
This resonated. And you seem to be on fire, very productive these days.
I’m taking notes.
Tom