In Praise of the Particular

By Matthew Patterson

All glory be to the specific We,
The lives we make and rightly call our own,
Identities that mark thyself from me,
The roles for which our whole lives we have grown.
True surely in my living soul dwellst thou,
And I in thee find respite, home, and peace,
Across all time and space I'd swear this vow
That by my hand all thy afflictions cease.
Yet bide we cautious, lest our zeal may lead
To perfect merging, anonymity,
Our lives depart with devil's awful speed,
With nothing left of thee, or I, or We.
For it is wrote he calls us all by Name:
How could he find us, if we be the same?

Talkback: Post Reply | View replies (1)