I know the heart of the stranger.
It beats
And bleeds
And breaks.
I know this heart;
It is my own.
But this I do not know -
this hatred,
this tearing
and rending.
I do not know this
suffocation,
this strangled
heart of
darkness
The stench from
this sacrifice is not pleasing.
it is a desolation.
There is no delight in this,
only death and a heart of stone.
I do not know that heart.
Will you bring a rain
of scarlet hyssop petals
to flutter and fall
against the broken bodies
piled against altars
slick with blood?
I would know You, God!
I would know the heart of a stranger.
I would sing of Your glory
and teach Your ways with joy.
But this heart -
this heart of death
and desecration -
I cannot know this heart.
I will not know this heart.
If I knew that heart
I fear it would be mine.
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