I stand on the edge once again
pondering what the demons fear
-- torment before their time, being sent here --
they'd rather dwell, unclean spirits in impure swine,
on the edge. They know that they are nothing,
from nothing, bound to Nothing. They have faith
yet are not justified, and they shudder.
But all else they shove this way, breaking
a man, or men, and returning each time
with those more wicked than themselves
until they are Legion, able to fight off their greatest foe.
When He appears, He brings the Abyss with Him
-- it is His Love --
and they fear it. God, I fear it, too. Every picture
of myself, every bit of discrete knowledge built
up over these many years forms a wall, nay,
a cell that protects me from that well.
I've stared in it, vast and deep, more immense
than any primordial sea, and it has returned my gaze.
A crucified man, a man of sorrows, unable to comfort
his Mother who stands besides, except with adoption
communion with a friend, who now becomes 'son.'
Will she receive Him back again? Will I receive any
of that which I've known as me?
I learn from the pigs, who would rather be swallowed up
in the waters of Love, then dwell with the demons here.