In Fear of Separation, A Selfish View

I send out my book as I send out my child,

Stuffed so full of glee, despair,

Of love and agony

Of heart,

Of nights awake and joy and fear,

With pride and dread

At the secret part

Of me the world might see.

Will they survive the burning flames,

The doubts of men,

New thoughts, new names,

That I did not intend?

And will they come to me again

Beloved or shamed?

And if I mend

Will I be cursed, or blamed?

On Good Friday

My heart's at half-mast;
It's overcast
With all I should have felt,
Should have knelt
Down at His feet.

Could true love die for me?

Was it my heart's voice,
Condemning choice?
Did my pride bruise His heel,
Fix the seal,
Make death complete?

Did Love still die for me?

If Sunday never comes,
Was it still love,
That took my place,
That turned my face
From hate to searing light?

Do I still fight?