Chained to the Pyre

I love her — too much
Too much, too much, too much.
My passion burns in me
It afflicts me in sleep
In waking and at rest,
in my dreams, in my soul,
for her I burn.
I struggle against the chains,
But whose are they?
Have these I made myself?
Or have You placed these
that I might not stumble
into the irretrievable dark?

Lord, Take her place—
Consume me!
Make of my bones
kindling sanctified;
my blood — fuel
for the sacred pyre;
wreathe my head
in the sun’s flames;
set alight my lungs
with embers of holiness.
May my eyes burn,
shine and blaze a-filled
Full of light, of fire and
of grace and of joy;
The ashes of the old world feed
the green grass of the new.

May the saved dance upon Your weald,
rescued from their birth-destined pyre.
May I rest at last, there in your vale,
from these torments of the self.

Great is my God,
who saved from me myself.

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