The Suicidal Saint

I stare into this darkened bog
wooed by its mysterious ways
I cannot see what lies within it
but still it holds my gaze

I look into this pit
this swamp of unknown depth
it seems harmless enough
I’ll just go under with a deep breath

It appears as though this is a game
I see souls striving
through the thick they’re flailing
but none seem to be thriving

I watch others give up hope
but I think I can keep fighting
I’ll just swim and churn and save myself
stronger than the others will I strive

I think I’m drowning
I think I’m dying
I am sinking quickly
but I keep trying

This is beautiful, this is lovely!
Could there be a better living?
I can’t imagine a better good,
a greater state I could exist in…

But lo, a hand lays hold of me
It pulls me from the mire
it washes me and cleanses
and holds me to a fire

“Are You mad?!” I scream
“What evil have I done?
to deserve such treatment?
surely I have not behaved in such a way to be so shunned!
Release me vile hand!
Return me to my place,
for it is in the mire that I play”

This hand continues to hold me
though I wrestle and writhe in pain
“Won’t You let me go?” I plea
but its grip has yet to sway

I pull, I bite, I jab
I curse, I spit, I rage
but still it holds me tightly
and in its grasp I stay

“This is wrong!” I cry in fury
“Give me back my beautiful life!
Let me return to the hope and joy
I found within the mire”

Its grip slowly loosens as its sets
my feet to stand on solid ground
At first, I planned to run
but then I looked around
my eyes adjust to the light
though in the east it is too bright
it illuminates beyond what I can see
and fills me with delight

I hesitate to run
it seems as if a life I never knew has just begun

The wonder I see here
lingers for a while
but after a time my gaze
is turned back to the mire

I walk toward its bank
it looks dirtier than before…
for the first time I realize
its filled with countless corpses

Still, I’ll test its sludge
and see if I can swim
Within this pit I once so loved
maybe I’ll find pleasure again

I plunge my hand into its slime
but recoil from it in pain
it stings like never before
what about this swamp has changed?

It burns me to my bones
it eats my skin alive
how did I live in this before?
how did it give me life?

But as I look deeper into its darkness
all I see is despair
of all the souls that I now see
are trapped and dying there

Was all that I knew a lie?
Was I dead within the mire?
I look back toward the hand
that saved me from a state so dire

It lifts another soul from its slime
and then breathes into it life
and begins the cleansing burning
with its righteous fire

With tear filled eyes
I look back toward the mire
I no longer want to swim in it
nor its filth do I desire

Instead, I feel a new longing
an inclination toward the hand
that held me safely in its grip
and brought me to dry land

There is comfort in its touch
there is healing in its work
for all the aching was worth its
saving my soul from the mire’s hurt

I ask its grip to tighten until my body
returns to the dust
to this hand I have seen
I can my soul, entrust

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