Envy

In what are words of praise,
Are echoes of damnation,
As eyes in furtive glance,
Betray their own vocation.
And lizardly they dart,
Glare at each elation,
And loathsome is the life,
Crushed at its creation.
Like a vampire craves warmth,
Is cold to the reflection,
Of fellowship.


The wanting never slakes,
The thirst is never quenched,
Delight devolves to malice —
In bitterness is drenched
This life, in all its days,
In sour envy entrenched.
And passively aggressive,
Smiling jaws tightly clenched,
Conceal a shrinking soul,
The tomb is buffed and blanched,
Free of fellowship.


It's brother to brother,
It's lover to lover,
It's Isaac and Ishmael,
It's Psyche and sister,
It is you.
It is I.


And only perfect love,
The love that casts out fear,
Received as sacrament,
In dread and awe draws near,
And tears our dragon hide,
'Til naked and austere,
And free to walk in light,
Be content in gentle cheer,
Nor king, nor worm, just be,
Kind, loving, and sincere,
In fellowship.