Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it.
Proud of the pain, I did not feel? till thee.
Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos’t shake it.
Not to partake thy passion, -my humility

Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can’st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!

Previous Poem
Precious To Me—she Still Shall Be
Next Poem
Purple—is Fashionable Twice