/lit/ - Literature

So easily You let Yourself be seen ,
Amidst the balmy beating of the rays
That brought Your Sacred Fire. Warmth has been
A solace and a refuge all my days.

How can with frozen fingers I entice
That glow henceforth? How sinned have I to be
Condemned to wither, suffocate in ice,
To share the fate of Judas, scorned by Thee?

Perhaps I waste my words. Perhaps You died,
Else been by cold usurped. No hoar-frost God
Has sympathised with me when I have cried
Ice-salt into the barren blue-black clod.

A touch of sacred fire would serve well,
Yet I am rendered numb in this white Hell.