The Stylite’s Sonnet

The moon is bright tonight, God favours me
With light to see my sins, the inch
Of cloth the winds have left my thigh,
The speck of footsole skin that does not pinch,
So that I might tear them both to find
The lofty suffering that Jesus felt,
A pain beyond redemption and a mind
To think my pillared self of God bereft—
Then His glory in my dear salvation
Shall be the greater for my hopelessness,
And from its nightly need of resurrection
My faith will have the strength of exercise.
Thus when I fall I will not meet the sod,
But the monolithic mercy of my God.

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