04-02-2024, 10:04 PM
The Liturgist's Complaint
For the past two months, I have been compiling
a set of rules, all for myself,
on how to pray:
which Psalms to chant, or Hymns to sing,
and at which times, or on which days,
sifting through thousands of years
of inspired devotion, of prose and verse
imitations and iterations
on themes which should be tired by now:
care for one's neighbour, yearning for the Lord,
and the utter hopelessness of a self
corrupted and alone:
yet the fountain is inexhaustible,
the gold leaf glued onto the panels
ever brightly shines,
burning all the health
out of my eyes
while drowning my very soul.
For the past two months, I have been compiling
a set of rules, all for myself,
on how to pray:
which Psalms to chant, or Hymns to sing,
and at which times, or on which days,
sifting through thousands of years
of inspired devotion, of prose and verse
imitations and iterations
on themes which should be tired by now:
care for one's neighbour, yearning for the Lord,
and the utter hopelessness of a self
corrupted and alone:
yet the fountain is inexhaustible,
the gold leaf glued onto the panels
ever brightly shines,
burning all the health
out of my eyes
while drowning my very soul.