Forgive Me

O God, grant amnesty to we who die.

With eyes that pity, gaze upon our lives,

and overlook the seeming cruelty

we wreak on one another ceaselessly.

For You, of all, must understand our plight:

of pain we have been wrought, of darkest Night

been made to walk these Lands replete with Light,

repositories of Thine endless Bright.

How to discern, when we are blind and raw,

and cannot see beyond our sorry lot?

How to make out the contours of the gods

when we ourselves are infinitely small?

Yes, Thou dost understand: We are to see

when we've made real effort finally

to change into reflections of the Source.

But how this happens for the void of Force?

Thou shalt help offer only unto they

who choose to ask for it, for guidance, aid:

it cannot Spring simply out of my heart

if I do not with my Self wholly part.