Scribbler's Cafe

Spare me

I have heard tell that love is the cure for what ails us. Isolation. Fear. Anger. Hatred. I do not want to be cured of these things. May love temper me, and bring me stretches of sweet oblivion, but please do not steal my wrath or my loneliness. I do not ask for that wretched relief from living. I wish for my love to plunder with me, to rage with me, to chase terror and boil and burn with all the rapturous evils God has bestowed on my body.

Love is not an antidote. These coarse emotions are not sickness.

They woven in my soul along with soften threads of empathy, respect and joy. Take away those barbed strands and my spirit will whither. Let love tie these ends together so that I may meet maker as my entire self, virtuous and unholy.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, August 10, 2004