michael rickelton - pentecost lyrics
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neither the sorrows of afternoon, waiting in the silent house
nor the night no sleep relieves, when memory
repeats its prosecution
nor the morning’s ache for dream’s illusion, nor any prayers
improvised to an unknowable god
can extinguish the flame
we are not as we were. death has been our pentecost
and our innocence consumed by these implacable
tongues of fire
comfort me with stones. quench my thirst with sand
i offer you this scarred and guilty hand
until others mix our ashes
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