by Wenxin (Vincent) Xu
I feed communion to your veins
With the blood of God-knows-who.
You ask me if you'll suffer much.
Surely, lord, not you.
You tell me people should not kill,
But to deeper laws I cling.
And I'll grant to death the victory
To take away his sting.
And so I lade the hyssop stalk
With wine and poppy seeds.
A drink to fill your weary cup,
A drip your sighs to cease.
You call me good, to calm my fears
But no one is good, not one.
You call me angel, but as for angels
Above, they call me Charon.
And rather than bear these ills you have
I'll send you to ones unknown.
Yes, dying must be hard for you,
But your death is not your own.
It's a death that drags us far apart,
But life's the greater toll.
In mercy I have slain your heart,
And you have slain my soul.