father o father,
I have made my seven rounds,
I have turned my nose at the blood of Sodom
in the tales of martyrs', my place I have not found
For they said you loved me
I have turned from the sword
and borne the lashes of the holy flame
Father o father, the flame has plundered me
I have believed the cruel stories and seen their kindness
I have taken the pen for moments of bliss
father o father, did you read as you asked of me?
the words I wrote you
Father o father, are you listening
as you did to thine beloved
to what does your impatient sight drift
when I sit here at thine feet
Father o father, they are pulling me away
will you not give chase?
will you not tell me I am of the chosen
as you brush the fear from my face
Father o father, they say you wanted me
but that can not be true
for bathed in aches of bleeding throats and bent knees
I no longer believe I wanted you.