Sometimes I can’t cope with the fact
that You’ve given everything for me,
that You’ve given everything to me,
and I’m yet such a fool; so very flawed.

You’re Beauty, You’re Truth, perfection defined;
love, distilled in the form of a human body-
And yet You did not deny me-dust waiting to decompose,
a single drop of blood,
or a single ragged breath.

I can’t pay you back.
Not in the all the eternity of my existence
could I allay my debt to You.

Yet, You’ve devised it this way.
You’ve lavished on me what I cannot return.
You’ve devoted what I can’t begin to
aptly understand.

You’ve left Your gift, Yourself,
to my crude intellect, my visceral heart.

I don’t know how to come to terms with the fact
that I can give you nothing, nothing at all,
but my marred fitful self.

And yet that’s all You ask…

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