So it is now to be, Lord,
that penance brings with it her own harder penance;
riddled throughout with pain, sweetly nuanced
with character like wine, red and melancholy and ripe?
Forsworn am I from joy so privily gotten
that, nestled deep in shallow places,
this hollowed out heart hallway, designed for
good and light and sweet,
lies overwrought, undone.
Paint has pealed from walls of these plastered eyes
inured to seeing what not to see.
I wish eyes and heart were unconnected.
For then, might I see.
Lord, tear out seeing eyes and replace them with blind
if only to remind me of what it was to see;
and then, blindly, to rejoice.