IX
If humanity is the renegade rag-girl in the tale
Of all history, then the prescient Prince has always
Loved her through all ages, as she picked through
Bones and ash and assorted litter, looking for
Gems or even just pennies in the trash. He had
Always known and loved her, from the beginning
Or before, convinced always of how he would
Rescue her, not just giving up his diadem and wealth,
But taking on agony and shame as well. All to
Substitute for and salvage her all-too-lugubrious
Louse-ridden lump-sum of a sorry self. Yes,
This is a familiar saga of romance, with all the
Thumbworn traits of the genre. But all the newer tales
Have trundled afterwards, and have only trod its path.
X
It is the worn story of every Cinderella
From Psyche to Pygmalion, but formed before
The first heroine ever carried into sweet Eden her
Pre-fetal bouquet of roelike eggs. Long before man
Managed to find himself embowered and emblissed in
Earthbound but pre-harrowed heavenlies. Long before
Grimm or Shaw, the plot had been conceived. And then
Enacted at the ghastly and gruesome expense of
The playwright. Never did artist, writer or fabulist
Suffer so much for an artwork. By writing himself
Into the dramedy, the Priest Incomparable became
The bloodiest victim, vitiated to the point of
Inestimable exaltation. Anguished near-annihilation
Crowned him with nothing less than the Universe.
XI
Yet he does not spend all his timeless time in
A static reign, merely accepting the adulation of
Cheering cherubim, and the four living beasts, and
The incorporated souls of a barely-chastened church.
He pleads for those more swine than sheep, sans surcease,
Without interregnum, interminably interceding for
Those he loves, like a maddened mother moved to
Fierce and infinite loquacity – as if the lives
Of all her children hung on her power of persuasion.
Love propels his wordsmithing, and love unleashes his
Floodtide of titanic rhetoric. Love breaks the dam
Of human diffidence, but he has never lounged
Nor lingered in arguing my cause and your case to
Aggravated Godhood. Such we owe to Advocacy.
XII
And all our evil is aggravated in His sight,
Exacerbated, enflamed, rubbed raw to the point
Where a lesser deity would doubtless erupt in
Exasperation and explosion. Any evil is to Him
What the worst crime and crushing affront is
To us: galling beyond endurance, grievous and
Wounding, as deep as to the womb or the marrow.
The worst offense, the most painful piercing point
Of switchblade or spear, the one rankling insult that
Goes straight to the most sensitive pubic-point of
Your pride – these you find impossible to palliate.
And so does God (He would be less godly if
He suffered them blandly and benignly). No. Scales
Must balance, that the Equable’s mercy may endure.
XIII
The Cosmos King is not impassible, stoic, passionless,
Immune to the call of symphonies and serenades, of
Fondnesses and affections and tendernesses, and
Wholesome longings that wander across the human
Landscape, like cow-warm wonders soft and with
Milk-sweet breath. All the finer and fondest desires
Of the heart are found like foundlings in our breasts,
Though they were born in His. The world of kindness
Found its start in the Heart that harbors a soft
Spot for cossetting; craves a cozy huddle in the crook
Of a favorite’s arm; warms at the thought of pure co-
Sleeping in the vast parental bed, among billowing
Bolsters, counterpanes, quilts, cushions and such.
We have strong loves because His love is stronger.
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