Suffering
The Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their suffering might be like his.
— George MacDonald
Sometimes, confessing, I incise The skin over my breast – bone, press the bone – saw’s Intolerable teeth through The knotting of sternum and ribs, Excavate the narrow valley floor Even deeper, open the vein of gold That branches up from my mother lode, Unearth my molten heart for you, and Your dark, delicate, intrusive mining
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